


Borders of Divinity

by audreyskdramablog, Crazyloststar



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, M/M, Pining, Touch-Starved, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, no seriously we mean it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 101,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25167208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyskdramablog/pseuds/audreyskdramablog, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazyloststar/pseuds/Crazyloststar
Summary: Noctis pulls a hand out of his pocket so he can run it through his hair. When he speaks again, there’s a subtle tremor to his voice. “The Ring is killing him, Ignis. I could help. But he won’t—”Ignis steps into the space Noct’s cut-off silence leaves behind. He offers what hope he can. “Gladio found another candidate. I interviewed him this evening.”“You did?” The uncertainty in Noct’s expression carves a slice out of Ignis’s heart.“I’ll be offering him the position in the morning.”“Do you think he’s the one?”(AU where Noctis has lived a secluded, touch-starved life in the Citadel due to prophecy, and Prompto joins Noct's guard.)
Relationships: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 1390
Kudos: 506
Collections: FFXV Kinkmeme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic was inspired by [this kinkmeme prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=11389242#cmt11389242), but we’ve gone somewhat afield from what was originally asked for. 
> 
> Crazyloststar is writing Prompto’s POV; Audreyskdramablog is writing Ignis’s. 
> 
> As of today, we have twelve of the twenty chapters written and are fairly confident in our ability to stick to a schedule, so this fic will update on **Thursdays**. And also! Some of the later chapters will have art, so please look forward to that.
> 
> We hope you enjoy it!

Prompto is clenching nearly every muscle in his body to not show even an ounce of the nerves he feels. He is standing in front of _the_ Ignis Scientia, advisor to Noctis Lucis Caelum, future Chosen King. And he, Prompto, is just some guy, trying to prove that he is worth something. Crownsguard openings for the Prince’s rotation are so few and far between, but this is what he has been working towards what feels like his whole life.

“Ah, Crownsguard Argentum. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Gladio has spoken well of you,” Ignis nods at the seat in front of the large dark desk. Prompto takes that as his cue to move. He tries not to immediately panic at the idea that Gladiolus, an Amicitia and Shield to Prince Noctis, had uttered his name when he wasn’t around.

Prompto sits slowly and the leather still groans a little under the weight of him. He tries not to wince.

“Good luck, Argentum.”

When he glances over his shoulder, Gladio gives him a wink. Prompto swallows and gives a small salute, two fingers at his temple.

Ignis clears his throat. Shit. He already fucked up—his salute was much too casual given the present company.

Prompto spins back around and the door closes behind him, leaving them both in an awkward silence. Ignis is focused on the manila folder in front of him, which Prompto only imagines is his entire life, laid out before the man who has his fate in his gloved hands.

“According to your personnel records—” Ignis finally speaks.

Prompto sits up a little straighter and curls his fists where they rest on his thighs.

“—it took you four years to graduate from trainee status instead of two years.”

“Yes, sir.” Prompto tries to fight the shake in his voice. He had expected this question, but all the practice in the world hasn't really prepared him for what it's like to have to answer it. “I had to get a job after high school, so I was unable to do the program full time. Once I became a Crownsguard though, I was able to work just for the Crown.”

Ignis studies him with sharp green eyes. He goes back to reviewing the paperwork and makes a note. “You worked in a photo studio?”

“As an assistant, yes. I didn’t take photos myself. Just helped keep things running smoothly, wrangled kids, things like that.”

Ignis hums, makes another note.

Prompto lets out a small sigh. He hopes Ignis doesn’t notice.

It’s not a lie, he did _have_ to work. Jumping into Crownsguard training right after high school was great and all, and that he even got accepted into the program was a miracle. But he also had to eat. And pay rent. Utilities weren’t cheap, apparently. It had hurt a little…okay, a lot...to watch others move past him through the training and become Crownsguards, to move into the position he was fighting for a chance at.

But now he was here, being given a chance. He couldn’t fuck this up.

Ignis looks up at him once more. “It is unusual for someone with your experience to try for a posting with His Highness. Why do you want this position?”

At that question Prompto doesn’t catch himself in time. His hand moves up on its own, towards the letter he keeps in his pocket, and Ignis catches the movement, green eyes following the hand. Prompto tightens his lips and puts the offending hand over his heart instead. He knows how this looks— a punk kid of adopted parents with no notion of being connected to royalty, or caring about politics, wanting to join the prince’s guard could be hyper suspicious. He got it.

He just needed to tell the truth.

“It’s been my goal since I was young to be a part of his guard, sir. I want to protect him, to be someone he can depend on, to stand by his side no matter what.”

There’s a silence after he speaks, and he wonders if he said too much, sounded crazy, like one of those fanatics who obsess over Noctis and his role as the future Chosen King.

But he catches a small hint of a smile crossing Ignis’s lips. Prompto drops his hand.

"I understand you've chosen to specialize in firearms,” Ignis continues on, “which is an uncommon choice among the Crownsguard. What drew you to them?"

Prompto thinks about all the times spent in arcades, killing zombies with shitty plastic guns. He knows he is one of the best marksmen, Gladiolus had said so himself. But he finds it strange Ignis would ask about _why_ guns.

“Just where I felt the most comfortable. I would rather be able to see the whole situation so I can best assess how to react. In close combat, you’re more focused on what’s right in front of you.”

Ignis folds his hands on the open folder in front of him. “Do you consider yourself a tactician, then?”

Prompto’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He has done his homework on Ignis. Ignis is the advisor to the prince, considered one of the best tactical Crownsguard ever, with higher marks than anyone else before him. Prompto’s panic is palpable. Does he say yes, and risk Ignis demanding he prove himself better than he? Or say no and risk losing everything he’s fought so hard for?

Prompto puts on one of his biggest smiles. “Just good with guns, sir.”

“And it seems you _were_ best in class at marksmanship,” Ignis points out. Prompto puffs up a little because ya, he was, and ya, he is proud. Really proud.

Ignis continues, “In addition to guarding His Highness, you may be expected to interact with the nobility while you are on duty. What experience have you had at court?”

The question catches Prompto off guard. He is by all accounts a commoner, as a lot of the people he’s met in his training were young adults who decided not to go to university, or first generations of immigrant families looking to make a name for themselves. Hardly the most royal of people he could have as friends. Sure, they knew royal etiquette, but outside of the Citadel and out of their uniforms, they were all just a bunch of dumb kids.

He could go on about how most nobility also didn't have to go through the same process of training for different combat roles after basic training. Even in basic, those from noble families were on a separate fast track to various officer positions, and so there was really no way for Prompto to interact with them. But Prompto’s sure that complaining about privilege and favoritism to someone who is employed by the Crown would probably be seen as poor form. And he isn't a problem, he isn't. He just sometimes gets frustrated by the obvious gaps in the system. He assumes that’s pretty normal for a guy like him.

His high school was just a run-of-the-mill public school, no one of any sort of status attended it. Or if they did, he didn’t know it. He had kept to himself a lot, focused on his after-school activities of working out, running, getting himself ready to pass the test to join the Crownsguard.

But—this is clearly an important question. Prompto racks his brain trying to think of how he could spin this in a way that would appease Ignis.

“Does Shield Amicitia count, sir?”

Ignis raises an eyebrow. “No.”

Prompto curses inwardly. He has to prove he is competent here despite his upbringing. He won’t let that be what keeps him from his goal. “I haven’t had any direct experience, no, but I am familiar with etiquette of the Crownsguard, speak only when spoken to, etc.”

Ignis sets his pen down. “Then you are aware of the special requirements of being around Prince Noctis, I presume?”

Prompto smiles and tries not to bounce in his seat. He’s spent a lot of time studying up on the prince; questions about him would be way easier to answer than personal questions about himself. “Of course, sir.”

Ignis makes a motion with his hand as if asking him to go on.

Prompto clears his throat and lifts his chin. “Prince Noctis is the Chosen King, selected by the Crystal. As such, he must remain pure, and so no one except the king is permitted to touch him, so that he may save us from darkness.”

Ignis doesn’t immediately reply. Prompto starts to worry.

“Yes, that is correct. Well done. You do sound like a devout believer.”

The statement makes Prompto almost reel back. Not that there is anything offensive to the idea, but it’s more like he had never been religious in his life. The idea someone would think that of him is laughable.

“I just believe in the prince, and what he can do, is all. Don’t think I need to be religious for that, right?” Prompto resists the urge to fidget but he pinches his thumbs and forefingers together. “I respect the traditions of Insomnia and the Crown.”

Prompto hopes that makes sense. To him it’s not so much about religion as it is about accepting and upholding a tradition. The idea of a Chosen King was one from the first King of Lucis—to be able to serve during a time when such a king exists, it's pretty powerful. And for Prompto to potentially be within the Crownsguard during such an important time in history, considering his background, is a lot. He hopes maybe somehow, his story could inspire other kids like him.

Could be cool.

Ignis seems satisfied enough with that answer and goes back to the paperwork in front of him

“However,” Ignis speaks, and Prompto realizes he was zoning out. “There are some additional exceptions to this. For example, members of the Royal Family of Tenebrae are also permitted to be close to the prince, as they have already been chosen by the gods. There are others as well, in special circumstances, such as Shield Amicitia. But those are very specific considerations and purification must be done in order to allow for these cases. Do you understand?”

Prompto nods. It did make sense; having been around the Citadel for four years now he had picked up on such things, and he had seen the purification fountains in certain areas of the Citadel, especially nearer to the prince’s quarters. But he hadn’t been allowed near them and never had reason to use them.

He studies Ignis for a moment. “Are you one of the special circumstances as well, sir?”

He immediately snaps his mouth shut when he sees the way Ignis pauses. Ignis’s gloved hands curl on the desk, but Ignis just smiles softly.

“Not typically, no, unless Shield Amicitia requires my assistance. I spend a great deal of time in His Highness's presence as his chamberlain, but otherwise I am expected to adhere to the same restrictions as everyone else.”

“Oh, sorry, uh, sir.” Prompto winces and looks down at his hands. He takes a breath, hoping he hasn’t completely botched the whole thing with such an insensitive question. Ignis had looked almost...sad as he had answered.

“No harm done, Argentum.”

Prompto raises his eyes to see Ignis has gone back to reviewing his paperwork. “Being a guard on Prince Noctis’s rotation means an entirely different code of conduct. There are strict rules, uniforms, and processes that must be adhered to at all times. Do you have any issue with following the rules to the letter, Argentum?”

He shakes his head emphatically. He’s been on the straight and narrow since middle school, since he promised himself he would forge this path. He had never wanted to risk anything that could have left a mark on his record and ruin his future.

Ignis seems satisfied with his response. “Even though you are not to touch the prince, all Crownsguard in his rotation have to undergo a lighter version of a purification process before entering his quarters. You will also be required to wear a special uniform in his presence as well in order to cover your skin, should any physical contact accidentally occur.”

Prompto tries not to get too excited at the way Ignis is speaking, as if he has gotten the position.

Ignis is focused on the papers in front of him, reading lines Prompto can’t see. “During your final exams, you took a personality test. Your results show that you value friendships highest. Over family.” Ignis looks up. “Can you explain that?”

Prompto panics. He hadn’t thought anything he had said on that stupid test would amount to anything other than making sure he wasn’t a sociopath or serial killer or both.

He swallows hard and tries to stay cool. It’s not a big deal, lots of people don't get along with their families… “I was adopted very young. And while my parents make sure I’m taken care of, I guess I just. Never really had a family like in the traditional sense, you know? But I’ve had friends. And they were always there for me.”

Ignis’s expression does not give away if he answered that at all correctly. “Any hobbies?”

It’s a weird question, considering this is to just guard the prince. But. “Photography, mostly of landscapes and skylines, cool architecture.” He watches Ignis’s reaction closely, trying to see if he’s saying anything that the guy wants to hear. “And uh, video games, that's definitely like, my vice when I need to unwind.”

Ignis makes a few notes. Prompto imagines it’s something like _what a loser_ and _get him out of here immediately._

Ignis closes the folder and sets his pen down on the desk, then rises from his seat. “Thank you for your time, Crownsguard Argentum. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”

Prompto rushes to also stand. He isn't sure what the protocol is, here. Should he offer to shake Ignis's hand? Does he salute? Ignis is a member of the Crownsguard even though he is a chamberlain and—

Prompto opts to bow at the waist, hand over heart. “Thank you for considering me for this position, sir. It’s an honor to be here.”

He straightens up and turns on his heel before he can gauge whether or not he fucked up, opening the door and walking out without looking Ignis in the eye again. He catches sight of Gladiolus in the distance down the hallway, but he looks away quickly and heads for the exit. He pretends he doesn't hear the hushed shouting of his name.

Outside the gates, past all the guards and the fanfare and security and the feeling like he was being watched, Prompto lets out a long breath. It makes him a little dizzy to where he has to squeeze his eyes shut. He braces his hands on his knees.

Four years of training and he still wants to barf.

It is less about Ignis, really. Sure, the chamberlain has a reputation for being very protective of the prince, but that is his job.

Prompto’s fears mostly circle around whether or not Ignis thinks he is worthy enough to be around Prince Noctis. The idea that all this hard work, years of training in high school and then after, not going to college, not focused on anything other than this…

He sits on the nearest bench as a wave of nausea sweeps over him, the anxiety over the interview growing. Had he been too defensive? Too casual? Was there some protocol he completely missed?

Prompto feels the spiral coming and wills himself to stop letting the thoughts take over.

His hand once again lifts to touch the pocket in his jacket. This time, he pulls out the letter, kept in the same envelope since the day he received it.

It’s probably strange—okay, a little weird—to keep a letter from someone he never met for so long. But it acts as Prompto’s reminder of why he’s going through all this.

Lady Lunafreya had asked him, all those years ago, to find a way to befriend the prince.

It wasn’t an easy task, and she had to have known this. The prince had been hidden away from the public since he was a child. He hardly left the Citadel since he had been deemed the Chosen King. And yet somehow Lady Lunafreya had believed in _Prompto_ , believed he was worth something more and could be someone in the royal inner circle.

He sighs and holds the letter to his heart. Though they’ve had other correspondences, this was the first. The one that set him on his path.

He wants to believe he’s done enough.

* * *

Ignis reads through his notes again, unwilling to get his hopes up until he’s finished reviewing them. It still bubbles beneath his sternum, threatening to overflow despite his attempt to evaluate the information impartially.

He isn’t the only one impatient with possibility. Only a few minutes after Argentum left, two sharp knocks sound from the door. Even though he knows exactly who it is, he still glances up when he calls out, “Come in.”

Gladio enters immediately and shuts the door behind him. “You didn’t scare him off, did you?”

“What gave you that impression?”

“He ran out of here like you’d set his hair on fire. Saw me and took off in the other direction,” Gladio says as he drops into the recently vacated seat. He plants his elbows on his knees and leans in conspiratorially. “Well? What’d you think?”

Ignis sweeps his notes back into his copy of Argentum’s folder. “I think,” he says slowly, carefully, “that you have a fondness for underdogs.”

Gladio makes a face, but he doesn’t argue with that assessment. “And?”

This is too important to needle Gladio about, so Ignis doesn’t continue teasing him. “Argentum was eager for the position but a little unpolished. How is he at long assignments? Can he focus?”

Argentum had tried to conduct himself neutrally, but Ignis still caught his sighs, the overenthusiastic nodding, the way he pressed his fingers together to try to keep them still. Not bad, necessarily, but not ideal. Habits that could be overcome with enough work.

“Put the kid on an assignment, and he focuses just fine,” Gladio insists. “When he’s got a target, he gets shit done. You had his marksmanship scores in that folder, yeah?”

“They are remarkable.” Ignis can admit that much easily. Argentum is a versatile marksman, in fact, not just with standard firearms but with sniper rifles, a long-range specialty very few in the Crownsguard aspire to. One that could be fitting for someone who is meant to _keep watch on dark and distant threats._

Gladio frowns at him. “So, what’s the holdup? You find something that doesn’t fit?”

“I did not,” Ignis says. “If it were simply a matter of filling the post, I would prefer someone with more experience as a full-time member of the Crownsguard. As there are more pressing considerations—” he taps the closed file “—I think it would be unwise to pass over Argentum simply for that.”

Gladio eyes him, and Ignis resists the urge to roll his eyes. It would be childish for one, and secondly, he cannot blame Gladio for his eagerness. They cannot be so caught up in verifying every detail beforehand that they miss their chance. “I’ll extend the offer to Argentum in the morning.”

“That’s great,” Gladio says. He breaks easily into a smile and stands back up. “Even if he’s not the one, Argentum’s still got the makings of a good soldier. Wouldn’t mind if he ended up sticking around.”

“Are you headed home?”

“Yeah, you need anything before I go?”

Ignis shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. I just need to get Noctis settled this evening.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Gladio says. “See you tomorrow, Iggy.”

Ignis makes a brief stop at a fountain to purify his hands and mouth before he takes a secure elevator to one of the higher levels of the Citadel, far above the areas available to the public or even most of the Crown servants. He heads for the smaller, private dining room that the king and Noctis use when they share a meal together.

But by the time he makes it there, the door is open, the guards are gone, and a uniformed member of the housekeeping staff is wheeling out a large metal serving cart. She pauses when she spots him and ducks her head in a quick bow. “Lord Scientia.”

Ignis glances briefly through the doorway and sees that another staff member is already wiping down the table. “When did His Highness leave?”

“About half an hour ago, I believe. You just missed His Majesty.”

The discussion did not go well, then. Noctis didn’t send him a message, and that is a small source of concern. “Thank you,” Ignis says, and he heads back for the elevator at a brisk walk.

He keys in his personal security code and takes a moment to gather himself as the elevator takes him even higher. The doors open onto the floor for Noct’s quarters, and the Crownsguard stationed around the elevator offer him a set of smart salutes.

“Sir,” says one.

“His Highness?” Ignis asks.

“His rooms,” says the other.

Ignis gives them a parting nod and hurries down the hallway to the door. There is another fountain midway between the elevator and the door, which Ignis is briefly tempted to use. Instead, he goes straight for the door to Noct’s suite, knocks on it, and waits.

Crownsguard Valeria opens the door after a moment, then opens it wider to let him through. She is a wiry middle-aged woman with gray-flecked hair and a professionally blank expression. Once Ignis steps inside the entryway, she shuts and locks the door behind him and quietly murmurs, “His Highness retreated to his office.”

“Thank you,” Ignis says. He removes his shoes and replaces them with his pair of slippers. “Do you know how the dinner went with His Majesty?”

Valeria shrugs. “I didn’t hear any raised voices, but His Highness left rather abruptly. He’s been in the office ever since.”

Ignis withholds a sigh. “As you were.”

Valeria nods and resumes her post at the door. Ignis heads down the long entrance hall and glances briefly at the alcove holding Noct’s private fountain. Then he turns left, toward the office. He knocks once on the double doors, says, “Your Highness” in warning, and lets himself inside.

Even from behind, Ignis can tell Noctis is agitated. The prince has his hands shoved into the pockets of his dress slacks, and his sleeves are unbuttoned and rolled up above his elbows. His suit jacket is dangling half off one of the couches in the sitting area along with this tie. There’s a defensive set to his shoulders for all that he is gazing out the large window on the back-office wall. From this angle, all Ignis can see through the window is the purple-tinted glow of the Crystal’s light against the night sky.

Ignis closes the doors carefully and repeats in a quieter tone, “Noctis. Are you all right?”

One shoulder lifts up in a bristling sort of shrug. “Nothing’s changed,” is all Noctis says, but it is enough for Ignis to hold back a wince. “Dad still won’t agree.”

“A new tactic, then. Or perhaps—”

Noctis turns sharply. His expression is thunderous, though his frustration seems as much directed inward as it is at his father. He still won’t quite meet Ignis’s gaze. “What other arguments are there that we haven’t tried yet? I’m twenty-two—older than Dad was when he went beyond the Wall, and my magic is stronger than his was at this age.” Noctis pulls a hand out of his pocket so he can run it through his hair. When he speaks again, there’s a subtle tremor to his voice. “The Ring is _killing_ him, Ignis. I could help. But he won’t—”

Ignis steps into the space Noct’s cut-off silence leaves behind. He offers what hope he can. “Gladio found another candidate. I interviewed him this evening.”

“You did?” The uncertainty in Noct’s expression carves a slice out of Ignis’s heart.

“I’ll be offering him the position in the morning.”

“Do you think he’s the one?”

Ignis chooses his words carefully. “We’ve found nothing that contradicts the characteristics of the third Swordsworn.”

“You don’t know, then,” Noctis says, and the bitter tinge to his disappointment has Ignis moving even closer, until he is directly in front of Noctis. Close enough that either of them could reach out.

Neither of them do.

“No,” Ignis admits, and he does not remind Noctis that he is the one who has to ultimately make that call. He cannot know, until Noctis does. “But Gladio will continue his search through each group of Crownsguard recruits. We _will_ find your third, Noct. The Cosmogony says—”

“It doesn’t say that Dad has to die first before passing the Ring on!” Noctis says, voice brittle. “If I can get him to share the burden soon, maybe he’ll actually make it to fifty-five. Queen Sylva let Luna take on the work of the Oracle outside Tenebrae. I could take the Ring, or even just the Kingsglaive, from him.”

They’ve begun to rehash old arguments, and that means Noctis is on the brink of a downward spiral. Ignis needs to intervene. “Noct,” he says, wanting to placate him. “Gladio and I want that as well. We’ll find your last Swordsworn. Trust us, please.”

The _please_ is what finally gets Noctis to look up at him. Ignis’s heart aches at how vulnerable he looks. Noct’s eyes are dark, stormy with worry and fear for his father. Ignis would do whatever he could to clear them, if only there was a solution.

“Ignis,” he says. His throat works for a moment, and Ignis glances down. Noct’s right hand shifts, fingers curling loosely into a fist and then straightening out.

He won’t force Noctis to ask in words. The motion itself is question enough. Ignis reaches out carefully, ignoring the way his heart begins to race, and turns his gloved hand so his palm is open, inviting.

Noctis reaches for Ignis’s hand quickly; their fingers curl around each other. Ignis hopes the warmth of his palm reaches Noct’s skin through the leather, hopes that Noct can’t feel how his pulse has spiked. Hopes that his earlier purification will make this a small transgression in the eyes of the Astrals and the Crystal.

Ignis has never been good at telling Noctis no. Perhaps he should be better. But he cannot deny Noctis the smallest of comforts: a soothing, human touch. He couldn’t bring himself to do it when they were younger, and he certainly cannot do it now that he is in love with Noct.

_“I am expected to adhere to the same restrictions as everyone else.”_

His earlier conversation with Argentum on the topic had gone sour with every hypocritical word. Ignis locks away his own guilt on the subject and reminds his fearful heart that Gladio has left the Citadel for the evening, that Valeria would never enter the office without knocking first. That no one will catch him breaking his own vows for Noct’s comfort. That the burying of his own impossible feelings is justice for the guilty pleasure he takes from being the one Noct asks for this quiet, simple reassurance.

Noctis squeezes his hand tighter, then loosens his grip. Ignis pulls away and tries not to think about diminishing Noct’s divine light or how quickly his heart is still beating.

“Okay,” Noctis says. His voice has smoothed out a little, and Ignis feels a guilty sense of relief. “I’ll trust you, Specs.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Listen, if you're there._ Prompto closes his eyes. _On the off chance this is all actually real, please just. Help me not fuck...uh...mess...this up. I'm serious about helping Noctis, ya know, be a great king and all, so. We have the same goal here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First - thank you all SO SO much for your resounding support so far for this project. We've put a ton of love and work into it, so your kudos and comments mean so much to us!! 
> 
> Also WHOOPS, so we realized about six hours after posting the first chapter that the pairing tags were wrong! It should have been Prompto/Noctis, and NOT Prompto/Ignis. (The unrequited tags still apply, but. It’s a different flavor of unrequited.)
> 
> That said, this chapter has art by the wonderful [puffbirdstudio](http://www.puffbirdstudio.com/)! We adore her work and you should definitely check her stuff out.
> 
> We also want to call out that the uniforms for Noct's Crownsguard were inspired by [this FFXV mod!](https://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=1528900834)

Opening the closet that morning, it’s still so surreal to think about actually wearing the uniform hanging in there, freshly pressed and protected under a plastic cover. Prompto’s already had a light breakfast, showered, and carefully shaved. His hair is styled up, bangs high off his forehead so he doesn't have to worry about any stray hair in his face. Contacts are in. He’d even splurged for the good brand to make sure he didn’t have to stop to use drops because his eyes were drying out in the middle of the day.

Prompto places his palm flat against the garment bag and lets out a long breath to collect himself. He’s ready for this—it’s what he has been working hard for all this time. _And_ he made it through the interview process, which means Ignis had to at least like him...a little. Enough to put him near the prince, which means a lot.

“You got this,” he speaks into the closet. He lifts the hanger off the rod and reverently lays the uniform across his bed before unzipping the bag

The uniform has several differences to the Crownsguard one he’s so used to wearing already, but the modifications make sense considering his proximity to the prince. Prompto tugs on the black long sleeve undershirt with its high collar first. It will take some getting used to; he usually hates having something tight around his neck. But he appreciates the long sleeves.

He then tugs on the black cargo pants, followed by the heavy jacket. Over that, he pulls on the gloves—thick ones that go up to his elbow and cover all his fingers, as opposed to being fingerless. He adjusts the jacket to make sure it rests properly on his shoulders, watching in the mirror as he does so.

Prompto recalls the fitting for his uniform—it had seemed so weird, that he had to go in and get measurements, that there wasn’t just a size he could request. Each Crownsguard in the prince’s squad had to be fitted, to ensure everything fit precisely. It was almost like part of the ritual—he had seen Gladio’s serious look as the tailor took measurements and followed Gladio’s instruction.

Prompto rolls his shoulders and gets the belt, and then his boots. Those go up to the knees and lace all the way up, which is super annoying to do. But totally worth it in the grand scheme of things.

When he stands in front of the long mirror hanging on his bathroom door once more, he looks over himself with wide, unbelieving eyes. The only pale skin seen is a little of his neck, and his face. He thinks of Gladio, who is one of the few he’s seen in this uniform, and feels very much not in his element.

He hopes he carries the same confidence as the fucking _Shield_ does. Prompto takes his phone from the nightstand. He stands tall, his right hand in a fist and pressed over his heart, and takes a selfie, angling the phone up enough to try to catch the full look, and then a follow up shot of his reflection. He feels a little silly, but...it’s something he can maybe share with Lady Lunafreya later. To show his progress.

He looks at the photo on his screen. It still feels like an out of body experience.

He shoves the phone into a pocket and heads out of his small apartment. He lives just two train stops away from the Citadel, but he still catches how some people seem to look at him differently.

One older woman gives him a small bow as she leaves the train on the first stop. It makes him stutter because he’s never been someone anyone had a reason to bow to before. The whole thing makes him think, really think, about what this position means to the people of Lucis.

At his stop he steps out onto the pavement and looks up at the towering Citadel building. He takes the steps up towards the entrance, waves to a few fellow Crownsguard who see him in his new uniform and salute.

He also notices that those who would have come up and given him a handshake, or a high five, don’t.

At the door Prompto sees Gladio. He can’t help the small sigh of relief at him being there, waiting.

“Looks good,” Gladio nods as Prompto approaches.

“I know right?” Prompto puffs up his chest and throws on a big smile. He feels better when Gladio chuckles. He doesn’t think he looks as good as Gladio does, even so covered up, but he’ll take the kind words anyways. He needs as much confidence as possible.

But then Gladio’s expression turns somber. “I’m here to walk you through the purification ritual. You gotta pay close attention, kid.”

Prompto lifts his chin. “Yes sir.”

Gladio smiles again. He turns on his heel and Prompto follows, until they reach a small lobby that connects to the elevators leading up to the royal living quarters. In the lobby is a small fountain, ornately decorated with a dark steepled roof decorated with gold sigils of the Caelums. Under the roof is a large black marble basin, set inside a hole in the ground.

Prompto has walked past this and others like it around the Citadel—he has known their purpose all this time, but now he has a reason to walk up to them, and it’s ten kinds of daunting and terrifying.

Gladio steps up to the fountain. He removes his gloves, setting them on a small stool next to it.

He watches as Gladio first clasps his hands together in prayer. He then takes one of the small ladles in the basin with his right hand and scoops up water, cupping his left hand and pouring water in, careful not to touch the ladle to his skin. He then switches the ladle to his left hand and pours some of the water over his right.

He holds onto the ladle again with his right hand, and pours a little more into his left. He closes his eyes as he leans forward and sips from the water in his hand. Prompto observes intently, hoping to catch every second. Even the smallest misstep could be seen as sacrilegious, as a crime against his position and the Crown. He’s being given a unique opportunity, one very few are, to be close to the prince.

Prompto knows he can't take that lightly.

Gladio pours more water over his left hand, then turns the ladle upright so the last of the water cascades down the handle and into the hole below. He ensures it’s empty before returning it to the basin. He then brings his hands together, wringing them.

Gladio puts his hands together once more and bows his head. He steps away. Only when his gloves are back on does he turn to Prompto. It hits him how seriously Gladio takes this, when usually he is the most lighthearted and easy-going person of the guard.

“Ready?”

Prompto feels like he’s going to throw up. “Yes, sir.”

Gladio nods and steps away. Prompto approaches the fountain. He looks at the water, a deep black reflecting the stone. The water is said to be blessed every morning at sunrise by the priests, after it is brought from the resting place of Shiva, snow that’s been melted. It’s said to be the purest source.

He swallows again. He slowly removes his gloves as Gladio had. He’s thankful the uniform has long sleeves, because otherwise he would have had to come up with creative ways to hide his wrists when having to do this daily.

As it is, he can do this without worry. Well, worry about _that._

He brings his hands together. The next part he is just as nervous about as the actual steps. Each person going through the ritual has to offer up their own prayers to the gods they seek purification from. And like Prompto said in his interview, he isn't the religious type.

 _Listen, if you're there_ . He closes his eyes. _On the off chance this is all actually real, please just. Help me not fuck...uh...mess...this up. I'm serious about helping Noctis, ya know, be a great king and all, so. We have the same goal here._

He clears his throat and opens his eyes. Okay, first part is done.

Following Gladio’s motions as closely as he can, he hopes he doesn’t spill any water as he leans forward to drink. It’s ice cold, and refreshing. It might be the best sip of water he’s had in his entire life.

He takes only as much as is in his hand though. Then he washes his hands. He put his gloves on. He turns back to Gladio.

There’s something in Gladio’s eyes, almost like...he’s really happy? But Prompto shakes it off.

“Nice job. You’re a natural.”

Prompto isn't sure how someone could botch that process, but he imagines Gladio has seen some shit in his time.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Come on, let’s go meet His Highness.”

Gladio leads him to one of the gilded elevator doors. He punches in a code.

“You’ll get a personal code, after your probation period,” he says to Prompto’s look. He just nods in reply as the doors open, and they walk in. No one else joins them. He notices these elevators are not very busy, actually.

It moves quietly. The sensation is just on the side of little unsettling on his stomach. When the elevator pings and comes to a stop, a wave of queasiness comes over him.

This is happening. He’s about to meet Prince Noctis; the goal he’s had for years, the culmination of all his hard work. It makes him a little dizzy.

“Yo, Prompto?” Gladio has already stepped off and into the hallway.

“Uh sorry, just—” Prompto finds himself embarrassed. Because how the hell does he explain this to the Shield of the Prince, who sees him every day?

“It's okay,” Gladio starts walking, hands clasped behind him.

Prompto hurries to catch up and mimics him, hoping the guards at the elevator can’t tell he’s nervous. He imagines it's a good way to hold himself to keep from touching people.

Namely, the prince.

“It’s weird, because I’ve seen him every day since I was a kid,” Gladio continues, “to me he’s—uh, well, don’t tell him I said this, but to me, he’s just—ya know, Noctis.”

That gives Prompto pause. He thinks about the purification. “But you still believe in the prophecy?”

At this, he sees Gladio’s brows furrow. “Of course I do. I just mean that he’s—I’ve seen him have the makings of an amazing ruler, and then in the same hour witness him whine because he wants pizza for dinner.”

Prompto smiles at that.

“He’s going to be a great king,” Gladio says with so much pride it almost makes Prompto tear up, “and you have a chance to be a part of that. Never take it for granted.”

“Yes, sir.” Prompto takes a deep breath.

Gladio holds an arm out, signaling him to hold position. He listens.

“During your probation period,” Gladio speaks low, “you’re going to be shadowing one of the guards who is on rotation here. First we’ll introduce you to His Highness—we like to make sure he gets along with every guard we bring in.”

“That’s...cool.”

There’s a small laugh from Gladio. He knocks on the door and waits a few beats before opening it and walking in.

“Generally, the guard on shift will be standing in the foyer,” he explains as they walk down a hallway, “but Noctis must have called him inside.”

They step into a large open space. Prompto can see another fountain at the end of another hallway between two rooms.

“As long as you did the purification downstairs, you don’t need to do the purification again.”

“Yes, sir,” Prompto feels like a broken record but there's so much he’s having to remember at this point, he feels like he is incapable of saying anything else.

“You ready?”

“Ya—” Prompto catches the casual reply and clears his throat. “Yes, sir.”

Gladio winks, the jerk. He isn’t the one meeting the Prince of Lucis, the Chosen King—oh, also his main drive for everything.

Prompto wills himself to focus as he follows Gladio. He takes the knobs of the double doors in hand, and opens them.

The morning light is shining through the large windows of what appears to be an office. The room has a long, dark coffee table with black leather couches on either side, and chairs on the ends.

It's there Prompto sees _him_.

The prince is lost in whatever he is looking at, some large stack of papers, seated in the chair closest to the window. Prompto has seen photos and news coverage of him—it’s few and far between, but on special events he’s made an appearance.

It’s when the prince looks up and meets his gaze Prompto realizes he’s been staring. Prompto immediately stands at attention.

“Ah, Argentum,” Ignis says as he steps into view from the right. Prompto salutes instantly, hand at his heart. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s a pleasure to be here, sir.”

There’s movement to his left. He glances to see the prince has risen from his seat, hand on his hip. He’s looking over Prompto, and it takes every ounce of his being to tell his nerves not to fidget.

“This the new kid?” asks another guard in the room, who Prompto notices immediately is dressed in the Kingsglaive uniform.

Gladio steps forward to the guard. “Yup, day one for the fresh blood. You ready, Nyx?”

Nyx, as it turns out, is someone Prompto has definitely heard of, though he’s never seen him. He’s several years older, and has been a part of the Kingsglaive for the entirety of Prompto’s training and then some.

Prompto isn’t entirely sure why a member of the Kingsglaive would be _here_ , and why he would know who Prompto is.

Nyx waves a hand and walks around Ignis to where Prompto is still standing. “Hanging out with you guys is always cake.” He salutes, hand to heart. “Good to meet you, Argentum.”

Prompto returns the gesture and hopes his hand isn’t shaking. “Likewise, sir.”

“Call me Nyx. I hate that _sir_ shit.”

“Ulric, please, we cannot teach Argentum bad manners on his first day.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I got plenty of those—” Prompto cuts himself off because what the hell was he doing, speaking up like that?

Ignis is staring at him as if he’s grown a second head. Prompto knows he has already fucked up, he’s gonna get sent home before he can even officially meet the prince—

There is a snort. Everyone in the room looks towards the prince.

Prompto almost faints because the prince is smiling. He’s actually amused.

“Heya,” Noctis says as he steps forward. Prompto couldn't move if he wanted to, he’s frozen with fear of so many things in that moment.

“Good to meet you,” Noctis bows his head. Prompto returns it with a fist to his heart and a low bow.

“Your Highness.”

“Don’t try to put on the act now,” Noctis says as Prompto flies back up, “when we are in here like this, you don’t have to be so formal.”

“Now really, Highness,” Ignis sighs, and Noctis smiles at Ignis, who then stares back. They seem to have some sort of mental conversation, before Ignis motions forward with a gloved hand. Prompto realizes in that moment Ignis is not in a uniform. He still is covered down to the gloves he wears, in dark pants and button up shirt, with a jacket over. Prompto wonders if that's because Ignis’s role is different than the prince’s guard.

The prince stops just about an arm’s length away, pulling at Prompto’s attention. “Ready to hang out with me all day?”

“Yes, your—” Prompto pauses, and looks Noctis in the eye, “Ya.”

Noctis smiles wide, and Prompto feels like he just won the hardest game ever.

“You will be the death of me,” he hears Ignis mutter as Gladio turns to move them out of the office. Prompto falls in line after the prince passes him, walking alongside Nyx.

“Today’s schedule is tending to recovering children in the infirmary,” he hears Ignis explain.

“That means you have to really be on your guard,” Nyx leans over a little to speak softly to Prompto. “Sometimes the parents, they see the prince and they kinda just...lose common sense.”

“Is it wise then to visit?” Prompto whispers back and hopes the others don't hear as they near the elevator.

“He insists. He spends a lot of his free time making curatives, and he enjoys delivering them himself.”

“Oh…”

At the elevator, Nyx lifts an arm up in front of Prompto. Gladio and Ignis follow Noctis in, and Ignis hits the button.

“Too crowded with both of us,” Nyx explains after the doors have closed. “That's the limit for people in such a closed space with him.”

“Got it,” Prompto feels like his brain is going into overdrive with all the new information he’s getting. All his training didn’t prepare him for _this_ , for walking alongside one of the most infamous Glaives while following the prince himself.

Man, he was gonna have a lot to tell Lady Lunafreya in his next letter.

The elevator opens for them, and they both get in. They don’t go all the way down to the lobby, instead getting off on another floor that opens to the infirmary. He notes another fountain right at the end of the hallway before entering the waiting room and joining the others.

Nyx waves his hand towards the fountain as they pass it. “There’s a chance you won’t always start your shift in the prince’s quarters. Would be good to be aware of other fountains throughout the Citadel so you can purify yourself before seeing him.”

“Right.”

Gladio takes a box from the nurse behind the counter with a winning smile.

“Let’s go,” Gladio starts walking, and the rest all fall in line, Ignis beside Noctis, and Prompto and Nyx behind them.

“Gladio will always be in front of His Highness, if he’s joining us.” Nyx explains as they walk down a hallway full of patient rooms, “and Ignis beside him. You should always be following from behind.”

Prompto nods in acknowledgement. They stop as Gladio steps into the first room. Nyx motions for Prompto to mimic him, standing on the other side of the door, while Ignis and Noctis go into the room. The door stays open though, so Prompto can hear what’s going on.

“Your Highness,” a low voice, a man, says with so much reverence.

“How is she?” Noctis asks.

“Better since yesterday, thanks to you.”

Prompto hears a crackle of magic—a curative being crushed. He hears the man whispering something, but he can’t make it out.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Noctis has a softness in his voice that catches Prompto off guard. “A few more days with these, and I’m sure she will wake up.”

“Your Highness—” another shuffle, and Prompto sees Nyx straighten up as he looks over his shoulder into the room. Prompto dares to mimic him.

In the small room, he sees a girl, just a child, lying in the bed and looking way too frail. A man he assumes is the father is standing, but Prompto notices immediately how Gladio has positioned himself in front of Noctis with an outstretched arm. Ignis is at the prince’s right, hand poised as if to catch Gladio.

He watches just long enough to see the man’s arm go from being held out to folding against his stomach.

“I-I’m sorry, it’s just that—”

“It’s okay,” Noctis doesn't sound angry. If anything, he sounds…sorry.

“Argentum,” Nyx whispers sternly.

He straightens back up. Prompto blinks and takes a breath. He saw something, there, in Noctis that he didn’t expect. He looked sad, and maybe it was because of the situation, which was one thing that made him already a good person. But then there was also a chance he was sad...that he couldn’t even shake hands with a man who wanted to thank him for saving his daughter.

It’s all kinds of fucked up Prompto had never really thought about until seeing it in this moment. The simplest of gestures that he, that anyone, takes for granted, and the prince gets none of that. All because he is deemed as this special beacon of light and hope for the world.

He doesn't have much longer to dwell on that train of thought before he hears them moving towards the door. Gladio leads and turns to the right, nodding to Prompto as he passes. Then Ignis and Noctis follow.

Noctis’s lips are drawn tight. He doesn’t look at Prompto as he passes, his eyes cast down. He has his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. Prompto feels a tug at his chest.

But then he’s falling in line behind them once more with Nyx at his side.

They go to a few more rooms, all children. Noctis is kind to every single one, and no one else, as far as Prompto knows, tries to touch him. But with each visit, Noctis looks more and more tired.

While visiting one room, Ignis steps out and motions to Nyx. Nyx makes a hand sign ordering Prompto to stay put, so he does. Ignis and Nyx walk down the hallway together and then turn.

Prompto looks over his shoulder into the room.

Gladio is at the foot of the bed, but he isn’t looking at the door. He’s watching Noctis, who is standing at the bedside of another child, but he is facing the door. It lets Prompto see the worry, the care, etched in his face as the young boy talks rapidly about something. Noctis is nodding along, smiling. But always arm’s distance away from the kid.

The kid is still talking when Noctis looks up. Their eyes meet and Prompto, for whatever reason, can't _move_ , he’s frozen with fear that the prince caught him watching, which he is pretty sure he isn't supposed to be doing. He is supposed to be guarding the door.

Prompto sucks in a breath to offer his apologies and turn around, but before he can do that, Noctis smiles and...

Sticks his tongue out while making a peace sign.

Gladio looks at Noctis with a raised brow and Prompto swings back around to standing upright. His heart is racing.

Prompto lets out a small laugh.

He hears footsteps on his right and snaps back to attention just as Ignis and Nyx turn the corner.

The rest of his shift is more of the same. Prompto sees the weariness on the prince’s face in between visits, but he never falters when he enters a new room. Prompto hears him say the same words over and over, and Prompto’s heart pulls every time.

At the end of his shift, they gather in the lobby of the infirmary.

“Time for dinner, I believe.” Ignis motions to Nyx, who looks to Prompto.

“Right, you’re relieved for the day, Argentum.”

“Thank you, sir.” He bows his head and smiles at the group. Gladio and Noctis smile back.

The group of them take one elevator, while Prompto takes the next one. He looks at himself in the reflection of the steel—and he can't help a small smile. He had just survived his first day, and Noctis didn’t hate him.

At least it didn’t seem like it.

Prompto lets himself smile wider as he walks down the steps of the Citadel.

* * *

After Argentum’s departure, their return to Noct’s suite is mostly silent. There are a number of things they’ll need to discuss, both before and after dinner, but Ignis would prefer to keep the worst of it until after Noctis has eaten. Ignis can tell Noctis is worn out for all he tries to hide it. At least he doesn’t appear frustrated; trips to the infirmary are trying on Noct’s patience not because of the patients or their loved ones but because of his desire to be doing more for his people.

Ignis checks the time on his phone discreetly on the way back up—there are still a few minutes before Ulric’s replacement and dinner arrive. They make it to Noct’s suite without incident, but when Ulric goes to settle in his usual post at the door, Ignis beckons him to follow. “I think we’d all like to hear your impressions regarding Argentum.”

“Of course,” Ulric says and follows them into the dining area.

Noctis takes his seat at the head of the table, Gladio sits to his right, and Ignis takes his customary seat at the left. Ignis pulls out his small notebook and pen from within his jacket pocket and readies himself to take notes.

Ulric stands near the foot of the table, at parade rest. While he may not enjoy formalities when they’re directed at him, Ulric still knows when it’s time to be a little more serious. The insubordination issues that have him out for longer than normal instead of on the front lines is additional motivation for his best behavior. He is only getting back out on the field if he plays the game politely enough.

(Ignis already has his report for Drautos ready to get Ulric back to where he belongs when his punishment is up. They need more men like him out fighting Niflheim, not here.)

“Well, Nyx?” Gladio says. He’s doing better controlling his impatience this time, which likely means he’s feeling confident. “What’d you think of him?”

“Argentum didn’t complain. A lot of Glaives would think this—” a very small hesitation “—is not the kind of work they signed up for.”

Ignis doesn’t doubt that. Kingsglaive Ulric is only here in the hopes that this time he will learn to curb his recklessly heroic impulses for longer than a few months. He cycles in and out whenever his stunts get to be too much for Drautos to endure, and Noctis likes Ulric well enough he doesn’t mind Ulric’s occasional babysitting joke. For Argentum, this is something he enthusiastically signed up for.

“He was quick to follow me and took everything in stride. Still wide-eyed about some things, but those’ll be normal soon enough.” Ulric shrugs a little. “Caught all my hand signals. Paid attention. Pretty sure he would have written down notes if he’d been able.”

Ignis writes down some notes of his own. “Anything else?” he asks Gladio and Noct. When they both shake their heads, Ignis turns back to Ulric. “Thank you.”

Ulric bows, fist over heart, and retreats to his post.

“Gladio?” Ignis asks when the sound of Ulric’s footsteps fade.

“When he wasn’t distracted by Noct, he kept a good eye on our surroundings.”

“Distracted?”

Gladio snorts. “Caught him staring when Noct was talking to one of the kids. Well, Noct caught him. Scared him a bit.”

“I didn’t _scare_ him,” Noctis says, but it’s not forceful enough to be indignant. He doesn’t sound as annoyed as Ignis expects him to be, either, which is a small surprise.

Gladio makes a dismissive gesture. “Prompto kept his focus after that. He was good at shadowing Nyx and keeping watch. He took the purification seriously, too, every step of it.”

He sounds particularly pleased by that. And no wonder, having dismissed previous applicants to Noct’s guard before they could even make it up to higher levels of the Citadel.

Ignis ignores the guilt burning in his palm and vows to purify himself on his way out of Noct’s suite. He still records Gladio’s impressions. “And what about you, Noct?”

Noctis is quiet long enough that Ignis glances up from his notebook. There’s a very faint frown tugging at the corners of Noct’s mouth, but it seems more of a thoughtful bent than something negative. “It wasn’t as uncomfortable as it normally is,” Noctis says, his words slow and careful, “having someone new around me.”

It’s a very personal assessment, one that makes the sharp, calculating edges of Ignis’s mind soften a little. While Ignis would have preferred someone with a stronger sense of decorum, he will take Argentum’s escalation to familiarity over the people who make Noctis uncomfortable with their worshipful or simpering approaches.

“He wasn’t scared of me, either,” Noctis adds, aiming a pointed look at Gladio.

“Just messing with you,” Gladio admits cheerfully. “You seemed to like him.”

Noctis shrugs at that, but Ignis does remember the smile that Argentum pulled out of him so quickly.

“What about you, Iggy? You’re keeping your thoughts to yourself.”

“Aside from Argentum’s apparent horde of bad manners?” Ignis asks. That earns a grin from Gladio and a faint smile from Noctis. “He met expectations. I have no reason to object to his continued shadowing. I would ask, Noct, that you not goad him into familiarity where it could reflect poorly on him.”

It’s one thing for Noctis to give Argentum, or anyone else he desires, permission to be lax about addressing him in the privacy of his own quarters and another for those walls to drop in public. Argentum admitted he didn’t have much experience with nobility, and Ignis would prefer that Noctis not accidentally send Argentum headlong into any significant etiquette blunders.

“Yeah, all right.”

It is all that Ignis can ask for. He shuts his notebook and slips it and the pen back into his jacket.

“What’d you pull Nyx aside for, anyway?” Gladio asks.

Ignis does not grimace, even though he’d hoped to save that topic for after dinner. “To see if the rumor that Captain Drautos is on his way back from the front had any merit to it.”

Noct’s eyes narrow slightly. “Does it?”

“Yes,” Ignis says. “At least according to the messages he got from Glaive Altius. There are a number of injured heading back to Insomnia, and Captain Drautos is escorting them. I think it is likely that will be the topic of at least one Council meeting tomorrow.”

There is a distant knock at the front door; Ignis rises to his feet. “A moment, if you would.”

By the time Ignis gets to the foyer, Ulric is gone, Iduma is in his place, and a member of the dining staff is wheeling in a covered cart. Ignis smiles politely to the man and tells him that he will handle dinner service this evening. The man bows and heads back out without argument.

Ignis wheels the cart back to the dining area and begins setting the table. “It looks as if we have tea this evening; if you want something else to drink, the kitchenette should be stocked.”

“Beer?” Gladio asks as he gets up from his seat.

“No, thank you.”

“Soda?”

“Sure, Noct.”

Ignis will simply have to finish off the tea himself. It will be no burden; the kitchen staff is always excellent at pairing the tea with whatever meals they provide. Tonight it looks like barramundi filets, covered in a sweet and peppery sauce, served with a medley of roasted vegetables and a side of rice.

Noctis likes the fish but he’ll likely just pick at his vegetables; Ignis will have to commend the staff for trying to keep their prince from giving himself scurvy or other nutritional deficiencies. He will take mental notes about which parts of the dish Noct’s disliked the least so the kitchen staff can take it into account for next time. Sometimes Ignis wishes he knew how to cook beyond the barest necessities, if only to try his own hand at solving the problem of a picky eater, but acquiring the skills has always fallen toward the bottom of his priority list.

Gladio comes back with a glass of beer and a glass of soda—no cans, at least, that’s a step up—and Noctis doesn’t grimace at his vegetables. Ignis is very careful to keep liberal space between him and Noctis when he sets the plates and utensils down before him. Noct mutters thanks to them both and begins to eat as soon as they both sit down, so they can start eating, too.

That does not mean Noctis has forgotten the change in conversation. He lets Ignis satisfy the first edge of hunger before he jumps back to the topic at hand. “Is Nyx gone?” he asks, and when Ignis nods, he demands, “What did he tell you?”

“He didn’t know many details about the latest battle,” Ignis says as he sets down his tea, resigned to finishing his meal later. “Drautos managed a victory with the timely assistance of Prince Ravus Nox Fleuret, though it appears to have been a costly one. I’m sure we’ll have accurate casualty numbers and a more detailed narrative on the official reports.”

Noct’s expression sours, likely under combined mention of the casualties and the Tenebraen prince, dual reminders of how Noctis is still within the Wall and unable to help in the war beyond support.

Despite the nearness of the Empire, Queen Sylva has resisted the urge to keep her children close. The elder Nox Fleuret has been serving his people in the military since he reached his majority, and the younger Nox Fleuret finished her Oracle training by the same age. While the queen still holds the title of Oracle and leads Tenebrae, Princess Lunafreya has been the agent of much good in the world, traveling throughout Eos with her trio of holy Messengers to offer comfort and hope to the people, renew the havens, and cure the rare afflicted of the Starscourge.

She stayed several weeks in Insomnia when Ignis was sixteen, after she finished her training. Noctis was quite taken with her, blossoming under her attention and the gentle, easy touch of her sanctified hands. Ignis was in awe at how casually she could rest a hand on Noct’s shoulder to get his attention, touch his elbow to guide him, or clasp their hands together when something delighted her.

Ignis had burned in envy and shame, and could not deny Noctis his paltry reassurances after she left.

“Anything else?” Gladio asks.

He should have been more discreet in his search for information rather than trying to be efficient. “I asked Ulric for a—more intimate look at what things were like before he was forced to leave the front.”

Noctis gives him a sharp, expectant look. Ignis wishes they could have saved this for later in the meal. “Your food, Highness.” It’s both a reminder and a plea; Noctis eyes him a beat more, but he does resume eating. It will have to be enough, if he can start with the better news.

“Glaive Ulric reports seeing Princess Lunafreya some weeks ago, in the Duscae region. Around the time she last sent you a message, I believe.”

Noct’s countenance brightens at the mention of her name. While he keeps the contents of his exchanges with the Oracle generally private, he had shown off the photograph she recently included: a selfie from the top of a haven she had renewed, her hair pulled back into a messy bun and a collection of dirt smudges on her sun-kissed cheeks.

Ulric had been part of her honor guard when she came to Insomnia; he still holds some fondness for her, if the proud way he spoke of her was any indication.

“Ulric says she checked in to see if there were any who needed to be cleansed of the Scourge after a battle, but as none did, she continued on her way.”

“None of that made it into the briefing the Council got, did it?”

Gladio swallows down some of his beer. “If she didn’t cleanse anyone, no need to point out that she didn’t do anything, especially in the summaries the Council gets. She’s Tenebraen; we’re not tracking her as part of our forces.”

Noctis scowls a little. “ _I_ want to know. Isn’t the Empire trying to establish a fort out there?”

“I’ll speak to Crownsguard intelligence and request that they flag any mentions of Princess Lunafreya for you in their reports,” Ignis cuts in, before Gladio can start escalating things in petty ways.

Gladio picks up on that and gives Ignis a brief, apologetic smile. “What else did Ulric have to say?”

Ignis doesn’t try to dissemble any further. Both Noctis and Gladio know him too well to let him get away with circumlocutions and careful verbal dodging. So Ignis delivers an honest explanation of Ulric’s opinions of how the war is going. It’s less polished, more crass, than most officers would dare give Noctis or the king or any of the Council members directly, even with Ignis acting as filter. But Ulric’s got a strong streak of honesty in him, when one pushes for the truth.

The Kingsglaive are stretched thin. They need more reinforcements in the field. It doesn’t matter how many daemons or MT units they strike down because it doesn’t take long for the Empire to replace them, and inhuman Imperial troops don’t suffer from a loss of morale the way actual people do when their comrades fall.

The Lucian forces on the front lines are holding on. But they could use so much more help than they’ve been getting.

Noctis finishes most of his meal (well, all of the meal he was likely to eat), but he sets his utensils down harder than they deserve. “I could help,” he says, and the earnestness in those words threatens to break Ignis’s heart. “If Dad won’t let me take the Ring, or the Kingsglaive—I could go to the front.”

Fear washes down Ignis’s spine, but Gladio jumps in before he can. “What, and get yourself killed?”

Noctis bristles instantly. “Don’t trust the years of training you’ve put me through?”

“What I don’t trust is your sense of strategy, and that’s Ignis’s domain, not mine.”

“Gladio, please—”

Gladio ignores him, of course, and eyes Noctis. “The prophecies say you will _fail_ without your whole retinue, Noct. And yeah, it sucks that we don’t have him yet. You think I like the casualty count every time Drautos comes back with his reports? But I’m not letting you run out there when you’ve got no chance at success.”

Noctis stands abruptly. Ignis braces himself for a cutting remark; perhaps even yelling. But Noctis holds himself together by sheer force of will. His knuckles are white from how hard he is clenching his fists. Then he says, slowly and clearly, “Thank you for your help today. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

And then he steps away from the table and disappears into the depths of his suite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let us know your thoughts, they feed us greatly as we continue working on this. 
> 
> You can check out [Puffbird's Twitter](https://twitter.com/puffbird) here!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis does know that this isn’t about romantic affection. It is about Noct’s own need for human contact, despite the risks. Ignis still has to clear his throat to find his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for getting us to 100 kudos! We’re thrilled you’re enjoying this AU so much. 
> 
> A lot of you have commented re: the world building, particularly the purification ritual. It’s based off of Chozu, which is the way to purify yourself before entering temples in Japan. The site used for reference is [ This One. ](https://matcha-jp.com/en/201)
> 
> The purification process is going to be something integral and important in this story, and this real life example really fit how we wanted it to feel. 
> 
> With that, please enjoy this chapter!

Prompto tries to find his new normal on his first day. He doesn’t sleep in, even though he really wants to. He gets up, eats his breakfast, goes for a run. He does some tidying up around the apartment. He eats lunch. Plays some of that new platformer that’s weirdly soothing.

Before the sun starts to set, he finally looks at the uniform hanging in his room. He eats a light dinner, just some toast and cheese and washes it down with some coffee.

It’s his first evening shift, the first time on his own.

And he doesn’t want to freak out before he even sets foot in the Citadel.

Okay, so maybe coffee was a bad idea.

He takes a few breaths and slowly gets into his uniform. It’s the same as every other time he’s put it on in the last two weeks. It really is, he repeats to himself.

And in those two weeks, Prompto learned so much more than he thought he would in this position. Not like, tactical stuff. But just. Royalty things.

He saw a prince who cared so much for the people who were out there, fighting in his name. Someone who also cared in the same breath for the children impacted by war, disease. He saw how the king leaned on his cane more than Prompto would have ever noticed just through the news.

Prompto saw the way Ignis and Gladio moved around Noctis like there was a bubble of air surrounding him. They knew the precise distance to always be an arm’s length away, either in front or behind or to the side. Like two of the same ends of a magnet trying to touch.

Only they weren't trying to touch.

At least, Ignis and Gladio weren’t.

Prompto’s always been an observant kind of guy. Always the one no one really paid attention to, and that had helped him be really good at reading people, at seeing things others might not have expected. It was also more the reason why he liked guns. He had an inkling, at the end of his two weeks following Nyx around, that there was a lot more to Noctis than just some prince who had a destiny to do great things.

And _that_ is what makes Prompto’s hands shake just a little as he checks his phone before pocketing it at the stairs of the Citadel. It’s not knowing what makes Noctis really...Prince Noctis. He’s seen a lot of walls broken down, but Prompto is still just watching, not really interacting.

He stops at the first fountain. He takes time to go through the purification process and catches glances of some people as they walk past. His uniform has garnered him more attention lately—there are few who are able to say they have seen the prince on repeated occasions.

Prompto should have tried to make that a category in his high school yearbook: most likely to actually stand beside the prince.

He snorts at himself and nearly drops the ladle. He clears his throat and straightens up as he finishes the ritual and whispers a prayer.

This is serious, he has to remember. This job and this ritual, it all has a weight to it. He doesn’t want to fuck it up on his first day solo.

He had observed a few of the evening shifts during his probation so he is prepared for what is likely to be a long night of staring at a wall. He’s kinda bummed Nyx won’t be there—it had given him someone to at least whisper questions to, someone he could make eye contact with when there would be a noise or a knock at the door.

Prompto gets his gloves back on and makes his way to the elevator. Gladio isn't there to greet him, either, like he had been most of the time—either him or Nyx would have been there to escort him and prepare him for the plan for the shift.

He takes a deep breath and holds it to the count of four while he enters the elevator. As the doors close, he exhales, slowly, once more counting to four. And holds for four.

The doors open. There are two guards standing at attention as he exits the elevator. He nods, and the guards return the gesture. He keeps his chin up and walks with hopefully confident steps.

He thinks of Lady Lunafreya’s last letter to him, after he had written to her about meeting Noctis. She had been so happy for them to meet. She had also wished to soon see them both, but she wasn’t entirely sure when their paths would cross. Prompto hadn’t pushed the subject, either, because the Oracle’s time is precious, and he is lucky enough for what he gets of hers.

Prompto fights back a smile as he gets to the door of Noctis's suite. He knocks three times in rapid succession and it opens almost immediately. Valeria gives a quick nod and ushers Prompto in.

“His Highness and Lord Scientia are working in the office.”

Prompto does his best to sound serious. “Understood.”

That seems to be the correct response. Valeria salutes, hand over heart, and Prompto mimics her before she exits.

Prompto takes up his position in the foyer. It’s a position that is ideal for being able to keep watch at the door, but not ideal for seeing literally anything else going on in the apartment. All he can see from the entryway is the fountain directly across.

He can hear voices talking low, but not loud enough to catch who is saying what. He knows it’s Ignis and Noctis, but that’s only because he knows they are in there. He hears the office doors open, familiar now by the creak their hinges make—Prompto finds it so weird that the prince in a literal castle has squeaky doors, but also he kinda likes it—and footsteps.

He stands at attention. Ignis pauses in the foyer and they make eye contact. There’s almost... _something_ in Ignis’s stare, but Prompto can’t quite place it. It makes him want to fidget, but he resists.

“Argentum,” Ignis nods as he steps by him and gets his shoes on. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.” Prompto holds his composure until the door closes behind Ignis.

And then it's silent. Prompto swallows and rolls his shoulders back. In all the previous times he shadowed Nyx, if they were just standing guard in the apartment Noctis wouldn't usually acknowledge them, not more than a nod or something when he walked by. Prompto appreciates he even did that, when he didn't have to.

But even so, when Prompto hears feet shuffling on carpet his pulse quickens. Noctis appears, looking…

Prompto almost laughs because Noctis looks like a grumpy cat. His hair sticks up in the back like a poof. He’s wearing baggy sweats and a loose shirt, with a hoodie unzipped and nearly hanging off his shoulders.

He’s wearing...socks with cats on them.

Prompto then remembers that Noctis is _there_. And when he meets the prince’s gaze, he wants to cower.

“Tea?” Noctis yawns the word out.

Prompto blinks. “Huh?”

“Tea. I want some. And cake. You?”

Prompto’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. Then he closes it. Opens it again. Nope, still nothing.

Noctis shrugs and walks into the kitchen, and Prompto hears dishes moving, water, a fridge opening. Some mumbling.

Noctis never invited Nyx, or Prompto, out of the foyer during their shift. If anyone pulled them away from their post, it was usually Ignis or Gladio with a request, or an update on the schedule.

Prompto doesn't know what he is supposed to do; none of his training prepared him for this. His orders were to watch the door, watch the prince, protect him. There was nothing about whether or not he could have _tea_ and _cake_ with him.

He works through this—okay, so if he joins Noctis, he can still watch the door—well, he can listen. The kitchen is directly across from the office, so Noctis made an _effort_ to walk into Prompto’s line of sight, which means he wanted to invite Prompto to join him. It wasn’t a pity invite just because he happened to see Prompto.

The kettle whistles. Prompto knows he is breathing fast so he stops, takes a deep gulp of air.

Noctis appears around the corner again. “I made enough for two. Don't wanna waste it.”

“It's just water,” Prompto says before he can stop himself. He stiffens.

Noctis gives him a half smile, but his eyes widen with it. Like a cat who sees a toy. And gods, can Prompto stop comparing the Chosen King to cats?

“Just come over here already, it’s fine.” Noctis disappears around the corner again.

Prompto wonders if he should purify at the fountain just in case, but then decides not to make this weird. He also debates taking off his boots but that also feels like overkill. He takes one step. Then another. And soon he’s walking along the wall, until the wall is gone and there is Noctis, sitting at his small dining table with a cup of tea in front of him, and another in front of the seat across from him.

And in the middle is a towering slice of cake several layers tall, the green layers contrasting brightly with white. It looks like something out of the fancy bakeries Prompto only ever dreamed of entering.

Prompto takes a few more tentative steps. Okay, he might really want some cake. “Is that all for you?”

Once again, he speaks when he shouldn’t. He grips the back of the chair he had been about to sit in as Noctis takes a fork and swipes a huge piece of cake with it.

“Yup.” Noctis inspects it, then pops the cake into his mouth. He chews slowly with his eyes closed and sways left to right a little.

Prompto finds himself once again frozen when Noctis opens his eyes.

“It’s almost done steeping.” Noctis drags his teabag in the water by the string. Prompto moves like he’s on glass. He feels like he is—feels like any second Ignis, or fuck, Gladio, will pop out from the office or the closet or something and shout _AH HA, SEE,_ _you failed the first night, look at you_.

Prompto slowly slides into the chair across as Noctis watches him, and he can’t believe his fucking life, really.

As Noctis takes another large chunk of cake out, Prompto thinks of a cat, watching a bird before it pounces. Prompto focuses on the teabag, on taking it out of the cup. There isn't anywhere to put the bag and he has another moment of panic, before he just sets it on the small plate the cup is on. He can smell that it’s something flowery—maybe chamomile?

“Sugar?'' Noctis nudges a small tray of brown sugar cubes. Not the cheapo white sugar. Legit brown sugar.

“Ya—thanks.” Prompto clears his throat. He carefully takes two cubes and drops them into his cup, again focusing on the water, on the sugar dissolving. He’s been around the prince so much for two weeks, he should be able to do this. But he’s never been alone, drinking fucking tea.

The sugar dissolves and with it goes the last thing he can really claim to be focusing on that isn't the guy sitting across from him. Prompto looks up and sees Noctis on his phone, hammering away at something.

His own phone is shoved into one of the pockets on his thigh, and Prompto itches to get at it.

“You play anything?” Noctis pulls his stare away from the phone to look at him.

Prompto touches the side of his cup—still fucking boiling even through his gloves. How is Noctis drinking it without burning the inside of his mouth?

“Not many phone games.” He shifts in his seat in an attempt to keep his leg from bouncing. “Not enough memory on my phone. But I play console games, as long as they are backwards compatible because I'm a few years behind.”

He snaps his mouth shut. He just said way too much, fuck.

Noctis sets his phone down and gestures towards Prompto. “Lemme see.”

“Wha—my phone?”

“Ya.”

Prompto listens, because of course he does, because the Prince of Lucis and Chosen King has asked him to sit and have tea and also look at his phone, and he wonders if he should be recording this to prove he tried, he really did.

He gets his phone out and he starts to reach his arm over the table—

He pauses. He looks at Noctis’s outstretched hand.

There's a flash of the fountain, his gloves.

He leans back a little and sets the phone on the table, then slides it over. Something shifts in Noctis’s face, but then his focus moves to the phone as he picks it up.

“This model is from four years ago.”

Prompto shrugs and thanks the gods his tea is cool enough for him to drink or he will make it be. He takes a small sip. Yup, chamomile.

“I bought it with my graduation money from my parents, and it’s been working just fine.”

Noctis just nods at that, and sets the phone back down so Prompto can take it. Prompto has a split second of going back through all his training—was he allowed to touch something Noctis had touched? But he had already touched the cup of tea prepared for him. Or was there a timer on how soon after he could touch?

“You gonna get a new one now?”

Prompto is almost at a loss for words at how casual Noctis is being. He’s seen him at varying levels of casualness over the last two weeks, but it's not something he had expected towards himself. He didn't have the experience nor the familiarity of the others.

“Uh, maybe? Will see how the first paycheck looks,” he laughs and pockets his phone. “I kinda want to get a new camera first, or maybe I could just get a phone with a nice camera on it.” He is rambling, he knows it, so he shuts himself up by taking another sip of his tea. The cup is not something he would have pegged the prince as having—white porcelain with a simple gold band across the top. But it is fancy, so that checks out.

“A camera?”

Oh right, Prompto was having a fucking conversation. “Ya, uh. I do photography. Well. Not professionally. But as a hobby. You know. Just take dumb artsy photos around the city.”

At that, Noctis’s eyes widen, just a little. “Ya?” he motions with his chin. “Do you have any on your phone?”

“Uh, I mean, not with this phone but I have a, um, social media account, where I post them.”

Noctis has his own phone in hand. “Tell me.”

So, he guides Noctis Lucis Caelum, prince and future Chosen King, to his small little blog where he posts photographs he thinks look just shy of hipster enough to be cool. And Noctis hits the “follow” button on it and everything.

“You don't have to do that.”

Noctis waves his hand and then he’s looking over the photos more closely. “Where’s this taken?”

Prompto leans over the table a little. He's very aware of his proximity to Noctis as he holds the phone out over the table. On the screen is a photo that was taken inside the Caelum Via. Before the top floor where the aquarium is, it’s possible to look down the entire hotel. It’s dizzying, and also thrilling. Secretly the photo is one of his favorites. It’s in black and white, which he feels adds to the effect.

“That’s inside the Caelum Via. So many people don’t realize the inside is just as cool as the outside.”

Noctis looks at the image again. “Didn’t know that's what it looked like. I’ve never been.”

That makes Prompto pause. “You've…never seen it?”

Noctis shakes his head. He’s still looking through the pictures. “Not like…this. Don’t get out much,” he mutters.

Prompto takes another drink. The chamomile is definitely not calming him. He would like to write a sternly worded letter.

“Maybe we can swing it one day,” Prompto says without really thinking about the weight of those words.

And the look Noctis gives him over the phone is...sad. “Ya, good luck with that.”

Prompto runs a finger along the small plate. “You have a computer, right?”

“Ya, why?”

“We can look at the pictures better, bigger. I can, uh, tell you about them more?”

Noctis slowly lifts his head. There again, that look, like he’s studying Prompto. “Ya, let’s go to the office.”

He gets up when the prince does, and he follows him into the office. Noctis sits in the chair and loads up the computer. Prompto stands about two arms lengths away, before he realizes he can’t really see things well enough. He takes one step closer so he’s still a reasonable distance away but can see the screen.

Noctis goes to his blog once more and selects the very first picture. Prompto smiles a little at the realization that they are going to do this the rest of the night. And that he doesn’t mind it.

Prompto tries to focus on the screen and not on how close he has to lean to Noctis so he can point at the screen. “So, this one is the Citadel Park…”

He dares a look at Noctis. Noctis’s eyes are focused on the photograph, studying it intently. Prompto looks back—the photo isn’t necessarily anything spectacular. He had tried being clever with focus, having the shrine in the background blurred behind a tree of white blossoms.

Noctis doesn’t say anything. But he does scroll down to another picture.

They continue this way, Noctis pausing long enough for Prompto to explain each picture. But he doesn’t ask again if Noctis has been to any of these places. The look Noctis had given him about the hotel gave Prompto all the information he needed for that.

An alarm goes off on Noctis’s phone. He looks at it with a frown.

“Have to start getting ready for bed.”

“Oh, sure.” Prompto looks at the clock on the wall—it’s nearly midnight, shit, which means the overnight guard will be there soon for the switch. Prompto steps towards the wall and waits until Noctis leaves the office to follow him out.

In the middle of the apartment, Noctis pauses. “Thanks for hanging out.”

“Sure, uh, thanks for the tea.”

Noctis smiles. “Goodnight, Prompto.”

They part ways there, Noctis moving to the shrine nestled into the wall between the office and bedroom, while Prompto goes into the foyer. It’s not until he stands at attention he remembers—the tea and cake left on the table. He makes a great effort to stay focused on the wall ahead of him, knowing that Noctis is at the shrine. He hyper fixates on the tea. On if he should go clean up. On if the night guard would even see it before morning. Would Ignis find it and wonder why there were two cups?

He sucks in air when he hears footsteps, but they don’t come closer. A door closes. He keeps holding his breath. Should he go now, and try to clean up?

There’s a knock at the front door. Prompto jumps and nearly shouts out. Prompto opens the door, letting the next guard inside. He doesn't look at Prompto and immediately know Prompto did something different.

The gods haven't struck him down for talking to the Chosen King. For drinking tea he made. For standing close to him.

Prompto doesn’t relax until he is in the elevator and away from the watchful eyes of the guards.

He got away with it.

* * *

Ignis prefers the early morning hours for his own training as there is less competition for the rooms, and also because it makes his own work schedule easier to manage if he takes care of his personal tasks before Noctis is awake. Noctis has largely outgrown his teenage penchant for sleeping in—a relief, as it could be difficult to wake him when Ignis couldn’t shake his shoulder or prod him to consciousness—but Ignis is still in the habit of texting Noctis once he is out of the shower, dressed, and finished breakfast to ensure that Noctis is awake.

 _Good morning, Noctis,_ Ignis starts. _I will arrive at 8:00 to brief you for your meetings today. You have a meeting with the Insomnian Arts and Culture Ministry at 9:00, followed by the Greater Council from 10:00 until 14:00. Lunch will be served, but you have training with Gladio after the meeting..._

Ignis wraps up the summary of the day’s agenda and texts it to Noctis. He lingers for a few moments over the remnants of his coffee before he clears the table and puts the dirty dishes back on the cart for the dining staff to take care of.

His phone buzzes with a text from Noctis: _Sounds good, Specs. See you at 8:00._

Ignis allows himself a small, fond smile at the nickname before he tucks his phone away. With Noctis awake and coherent, Ignis does not need to rush through the rest of his morning to ensure that the day starts on schedule. His quarters are only four floors down from Noct’s, but his public office is much closer to ground level, in the bureaucratic depths of the Citadel, and the documents he needs to properly prepare Noctis for his meetings today should be down there.

His life has been much easier ever since Ignis moved from his uncle’s estate into the Citadel at eighteen, after he was officially sworn in as Crownsguard. Gladio has quarters in the Citadel as well—one level beneath Noctis—but his primary residence is with the rest of his family at the Amicitia estate. Gladio’s suite in the Citadel is largely for convenience after late nights or in anticipation of unusually early mornings. Ignis, on the other hand, is third in line for the Scientia title, after his two older cousins, so it was relatively simple to convince his uncle to allow him to move into the Citadel permanently, with the king’s blessing.

It does mean his driving skills have grown rather rusty now that he no longer makes the commute between his uncle’s home and the Citadel very often. Arranging for a taxi is often more convenient. On the rare occasions that Noctis leaves the Citadel grounds for an official function, he is driven by a security team, and Ignis rides beside him or in another car entirely.

Ignis texts Gladio as well to remind him of his training session with Noct, but he doesn’t expect a response for a while. Gladio and Clarus should be on their way to the Citadel right now. Jared drives them, but Gladio and Clarus usually spend the trip going over security updates and the day-to-day work of the Crownsguard.

He is still pleased when Gladio texts back right away, confirming the session, and then adding, _I’ll have profiles for you to look at by tomorrow._

That’s right, the Crownsguard trainees advanced another level last week. In the space between Argentum’s hiring and Noct’s frustration regarding the war, it slipped his mind. But not Gladio’s, though that’s likely because he works directly with the ones in their final year when he is not needed at Noct’s side. There must not be that many possible candidates if Gladio is already close to finishing his initial screening for the third Swordsworn. Still, ruling people out counts as making progress in their search, and Ignis intends to follow through with his promise to Noctis that they will find the missing member of his Six-decreed retinue.

He turns that promise over and over in his mind after he leaves his quarters and carefully purifies himself. The missing Swordsworn is one of his favorite worry-stones. If the Cosmogony says that Noctis will fail without all three of them, then there is a chance Noctis never finds the third. Or perhaps even loses the third in the course of the journey he must undertake. But simply because the third can be missed doesn’t mean they can make him appear any sooner than the gods will allow him to cross their paths.

Still, doing nothing, waiting for the Six to deposit Noct’s third into their collective laps is too much trust to place in divine beings Ignis has never met.

There aren’t many people at work this early in the day, but Ignis acknowledges the ones who are on his way to his public office. It is much the same as any mid-level bureaucrat in the Citadel, and Ignis does not look forward to the day when he has to move to the level reserved for the king’s advisors.

He unlocks his office door and turns on the light. Three separate manila folders overlap in a neat arrangement on his desk; bless his assistant. Ignis takes a seat and flips through them one by one, pleased to see that all the reports he asked for are present. He opens his top desk drawer and pulls out a green, yellow, and red highlighter, as well as a blue pen, and begins marking up the printouts. It helps him refresh his own memory in preparation for the day’s meetings, and it will ensure he covers the most pertinent information with Noctis.

Ignis spends nearly an hour annotating the reports to his satisfaction before his phone buzzes with the reminder that he needs to be on his way. He grabs a leather portfolio, slips the manila folders and pen inside, and heads for Noct’s suite.

The Citadel is starting to wake up, but the private elevator up to Noct’s floor is silent. Ignis nods to the guards who greet him when the doors open.

As always, his gaze drifts toward the fountain as he approaches it. There is no need for him to purify himself again. It has barely been an hour since he last did, and all he has done since is paperwork. He hasn’t even shaken hands with anyone.

And he knows, rationally, that he can’t horde ritual purity. It isn’t a commodity he can accumulate and then spend to somehow lessen the offense of diminishing Noct’s divine light. Treating it as such is laughable.

The Crownsguard in the hall don’t know this would be his second time. The gods—he doesn’t know.

(Noctis is their Chosen. Surely they would intervene if the small comforts Ignis selfishly allows Noctis threatened their Chosen’s purpose.

But the gods are also sleeping, for the Cosmogony says the Oracle must wake them. The Cosmogony does not guarantee Noct’s victory. What if Ignis is already, or yet might be, the agent of Noct’s failure—)

Ignis stops at the fountain, sets aside the portfolio, and strips off his gloves. He clasps his hands together, but his thoughts aren’t on any sort of prayer. He does not wish for attention from the Astrals. Not when he knows his feelings for Noctis are branded across his mind and his heart.

He goes through the rest of the ritual, dries off his hands, and puts himself back together.

Crownsguard Scaevola lets him in when he knocks. Ignis exchanges his shoes for slippers and passes by a dining cart with empty dishes on his way to the office. Noctis must have been up right on time if he’s already finished breakfast.

The office’s double doors have been left open for him, so Ignis steps inside. “Good morning, Highness,” he says before he closes the doors behind him.

Noctis is in the office’s sitting area, already dressed in the slacks and button-up that go under his formal raiment he will need for the Council. Ah, it seems he hasn’t quite finished breakfast; on the coffee table is an actual coffee pot and a mug. Noctis has a tablet balanced on his crossed leg while he is reading, and he is slow to look up.

“Morning,” he says back, and the sleep-touched rumble to his voice has Ignis’s heart trying to do something entirely unprofessional.

“Whenever you’re ready, we can begin.”

“Just a second,” Noctis says. He waves Ignis to take a seat on the couch, perpendicular to the armchair he is sitting in.

Ignis does, carefully going the long way around the table to ensure that he keeps a suitable distance. By the time he has the folders spread out on the table, Noctis has switched off the tablet.

“Trade you,” Noctis says.

Ignis takes the tablet from him carefully, so their hands are in no danger of touching, and sets the device on the empty seat beside him. Noctis picks up the first folder and opens it.

“The Arts and Culture Ministry wants to make adjustments to the budget for the summer solstice,” Ignis begins. He walks Noctis through the last festival proposal that was submitted, reminds him what financial changes he can approve without going back to the Council for their authorization, and so on.

It’s a soothing ritual. When Noctis was younger and first beginning to actively make decisions in government, he relied on Ignis heavily to help shape his opinions and course of action and keep track of the important players and politicking, even though Ignis himself only had two years’ more experience of sitting in on such meetings. Now that Noctis has experience of his own, he relies on Ignis more for the minutiae of regulations and to remind him of smaller details he has failed to account for. Or to be a sounding board, to help craft the most effective approach for various audiences.

There have only been a handful of times in the last few years where Ignis felt he needed to intervene strongly, but even if Noctis ultimately went counter to Ignis’s advice, he still listened. Noctis will be a magnificent king someday, and Ignis is already proud to serve him.

Noctis finishes off his pot of coffee just before they wrap up their preparation for the first meeting, and Ignis decides that is as good a time as any for a break. Ignis gathers up the mug and the coffee pot; Noctis steps away to brush his teeth.

The dining staff must have shown up in the interim because the cart isn’t there anymore. Ignis could leave the dishes on the table or the kitchenette counter, to be whisked away the next time Noctis has a meal delivered to his suite, but Ignis prefers things to be kept tidier. He listens closely, but doesn’t hear any movement from Noctis, so he decides it is safe enough to strip off his leather gloves and replace them with a set of rubber dish gloves that he procures from a drawer. They go nearly to his elbows and are loose enough around the arms that he doesn’t have to push his shirtsleeves up. Ignis stoppers the sink and gets the hot water going.

He is wrists deep in hot water and soap suds when he hears Noct come up behind him. “You don’t have to do the dishes,” Noctis says, close enough that if Ignis turned, he could probably see him right at his shoulder.

“It’s no—” Ignis starts to say, but the word _trouble_ sticks in his throat when he feels the warm press of Noct’s shoulder and upper arm against his own.

It’s light, barely there. More impression than pressure. Hardly worth describing as contact if it were anyone else. But Noct’s warmth is electrifying, even more so because when Ignis dares to glance over, Noctis looks content.

Not distressed, or lonely, or angry, or in desperate need of reassurance. Like he is standing so close to Ignis because it simply happened that way, not because he knows Ignis is the only one nearby who will occasionally be blasphemous when Noctis needs him to be.

Noctis glances down. “You’re wearing gloves,” he says, and Ignis doesn’t know if he is imagining the disappointed note in Noct’s tone.

He does know that this isn’t about romantic affection. It is about Noct’s own need for human contact, despite the risks. Ignis still has to clear his throat to find his voice. “If you would start reviewing the contents of the second folder, I will join you in a moment.”

“Sure, Iggy,” Noctis says, and he steps away easily, retreating to the office.

Ignis braces himself against the counter until Noct’s warmth fades.

Noctis conducts himself admirably through both his meetings. He doesn’t let his frustration with his own lack of participation in the war get in the way of the questions he asks or the comments he makes when the Greater Council meeting turns toward the topic.

After the meeting concludes, Ignis and now Crownsguard Valeria escort Noctis down to the training grounds. There are two training rooms dedicated for Noct’s use; today they are booked for the one that is indoors, which means that Gladio intends for Noctis to work on non-magical techniques.

As the training room is private, so is the changing room attached. Valeria does a quick sweep and declares it clear after Ignis unlocks the door. She waits outside while Ignis and Noctis step inside.

The room is much nicer than the typical Crownsguard locker room, of course, with a full bathroom actually separate from the changing area. There is a small armoire where Noctis can hang up his clothing and a dresser filled with training clothes in his size, as well as a miniature fridge filled with bottled water and sports drinks.

Noctis immediately starts taking off his regalia.

“I’ll go check on Gladio,” Ignis says and heads with his portfolio for the door opposite, the one that leads to the actual training room.

It’s quiet and still on the other side, though the lights are on. Ignis takes a critical look around and notes that the mats are still stacked along the side, which means Gladio isn’t planning on hand-to-hand combat today. That is a small relief. The room itself is lined with racks of practice weapons of all shapes and sizes. Though Gladio favors his greatswords, Noctis is not as partial as him to the blade. When Gladio’s training regimen allows it, Noctis likes to gain experience with a variety of weapons.

Ignis heads for the door that leads to the purification room, but it opens before he gets to it. Gladio spills out, his hair still damp from the rituals. He is wearing a close-fitting, long-sleeved shirt and slightly looser pants with the bottoms tucked neatly into his boots. A set of gloves and an already half-empty water bottle complete the ensemble.

It’s a far cry from the open shirt Gladio prefers to wear when he’s not scheduled to be around Noctis, and Ignis knows from experience how much more uncomfortable it is to train in such an outfit than in shorts and a tank top. But even after several hours of purification, Gladio still isn’t worthy of the possibility of making direct, skin-to-skin contact with Noct.

Ignis ignores the phantom warmth along his arm and shoulder.

“Hey, Iggy,” Gladio says. He takes a long drink from his water bottle. “Am I late?”

“Not at all. Noctis just started changing.”

“Good. Worried I would be since my briefing with Dad this morning ran a little long.” Gladio screws the cap back on his water bottle and sets it on the nearby bench. He sounds approving when he adds, “I can’t ever get the priests to rush through their ceremonies to make up for it.”

Ignis makes a non-committal sound and takes his customary seat on the bench. “What do you plan to work on today?”

“Swords, mostly. Though Noct said he was interested in more dagger work down the line.”

“Did he, now?”

“Yeah. I’m about at my limit for what I can teach him, though. Let me know when you’re able to carve some time out of your schedule.”

They both know it will be difficult for Ignis to find the time to undergo the longer ceremonies prior to a training session, but Ignis murmurs _of course_ anyway. If Noctis wants to learn from and train with him, then Ignis will find a way to make it work. Somehow. He knows if he can’t, Gladio will probably ask permission for someone else in the Crownsguard or Kingsglaive.

Noctis enters the training room not long after, with Valeria trailing behind him. She takes her post on the sidelines while Gladio joins Noctis in the center of the room and starts the both of them stretching. They stay a respectable distance apart, and they’re far enough away, their voices low enough, that Ignis can only catch snatches of their conversation.

These training sessions, the ones that Ignis isn’t directly participating in, are designed to be an opportunity for Ignis to observe Noct’s performance or catch up on smaller tasks. Ignis spends the time Noctis and Gladio are stretching and going through their warm-up drills with practice swords to catch up on his email and iron out some scheduling conflicts later in the month. But when they move on to sparring, they have Ignis’s full attention.

Gladio is magnificent in motion, all power and surprising speed for a man of his bulk. He is clever, too, and utterly ruthless in a fight. With a greatsword in his hands, he has the advantage of reach on most opponents, but he is equally capable of brawling up close with the best.

Noctis is beautiful, carved in sharp lines and brought to life with catlike grace. He is faster than Gladio even without warping, darting in and out of range while he searches for an opening. He would be stunning on a ballroom floor, if ever he were taught to dance and allowed a partner to hold.

Wooden weapons have a different cadence than steel, but the sounds of their impact still fill the air. Ignis is at the wrong angle to catch the trap that Gladio sets before Noctis falls for it, but he is at the perfect angle to watch Gladio twist out of the way of Noct’s blade, grab Noct’s sword arm, and throw Noct over his hip.

Noctis grunts when he hits the ground, but he’s back on his feet before Gladio can capitalize on the movement. And Ignis—

Desperately smothers his jealousy.

He is not jealous that Gladio caused Noctis pain. No, he is jealous that here, on the training grounds, Gladio does not have to second-guess the distance between him and Noctis. He doesn’t have to fear the gods themselves will strike him down if their hands touch, if their arms brush, if their bodies connect. He doesn’t have to fear that he will be the ultimate cause of Noct’s failure.

Noctis must learn to fight, and Gladio is his ordained teacher. Ignis may be granted permission to assist from time to time, but even then, he isn’t the one who corrects Noct’s stances or form with careful hands when words don’t suffice. He isn’t the one who sometimes helps Noctis to his feet or occasionally grips Noct’s shoulder and gives him praise.

This jealousy is unbecoming. Likely worse, to wish he could have the position to inflict incidental but necessary pain upon Noctis. He should be satisfied with those small moments when Noctis goes to him for reassurance, a human touch. He should be content with his destiny at Noct’s left hand. He should have better control of his heart.

He doesn’t.

After practice and Noct’s requisite session with the priests to cleanse him of the violence inflicted on him, Ignis accompanies Noctis back to his quarters since his public schedule is over. Gladio splits off to attend an evening session with the Crownsguard trainees and to finish up his review of their profiles. But Ignis’s plans for the evening are derailed when a black dog greets them when the elevator doors open onto Noct’s floor.

“Umbra!” Noctis says, clearly delighted. He steps off the elevator and immediately goes down on one knee so he can bury his fingers in the Messenger’s fur.

Umbra barks and then sits down right in the middle of the hallway, tail thumping against the floor, and lets the Chosen King give him several good head scratches. Ignis can’t help but smile as he and Valeria carefully step around them. He doesn’t have the heart to reprimand the guards on duty for their smiles, either. It’s not often the people of the Citadel get to see Noctis with an expression such as this.

Noctis spends several moments petting Umbra, but when he tries to reach for the pouch and the notebook inside it, Umbra dances out of reach.

“Okay, fine, I remember.” Noctis climbs to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Umbra falls in line with Noctis immediately, and Ignis and Valeria trail after them both. Once inside the apartment, Valeria resumes her post at the door, while Ignis heads for the kitchenette.

“Where are the treats, Specs?” Noctis asks, opening one wrong cupboard and then another.

“One cabinet to the left, second shelf.”

“Hah, here we go.” Noctis pulls out the package and opens it up. He hands the treat over to Umbra, who devours it immediately and then sits very still so Noctis can open the pouch and take the notebook out of it.

“Would you like anything to eat or drink?” Ignis asks, knowing that Noctis will be occupied for some time while he reads the latest letter from Lady Lunafreya and composes his own reply.

“Whatever you want to make,” Noctis says. He already has the notebook open and starts flipping through pages as he retreats to the office.

Umbra stays in the kitchen and looks up at Ignis.

“You’ll not beg an extra treat from me,” he tells the Messenger.

Umbra huffs and then follows after Noctis.

By the time Ignis has made a pot of tea and arranged an assortment of snacks, he expects Noctis to be scribbling drafts of his response to Lady Lunafreya on scrap paper. He hesitates on the office’s threshold when he sees Noctis sitting quietly in his armchair, the notebook open in his lap, and Umbra leaning against one of his legs.

“Highness?”

Noctis looks up, and there is worry in every line of his expression. “Luna—there’s an outbreak in Lucis. Of Starscourge. Bigger than she’s ever seen before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Luna! :) We love you. Best of luck with that Scourge. 
> 
> How long do you think it’s going to take before Prompto stops freaking out over every interaction with Noct? Or until Ignis spontaneously combusts from repressed feelings? ;]
> 
> See you next week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are you working on?” Noctis asks. He leans in carefully, and Ignis stays very still.
> 
> “I’m reviewing Crownsguard trainee profiles,” Ignis says. He angles his phone a little, so Noctis can see it better. “For your third.”
> 
> But instead of peering closer, Noctis pulls back a little, frowning. “You are?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are fantastic. Thank you so much for your enthusiasm for this weird little fic. We deeply appreciate it. <3
> 
> This chapter has art again! This time provided by the wonderful [ mage](https://twitter.com/mgmg_ff). Please check them out!

Prompto sits at his counter, scrolling through the news on his phone while sipping his coffee. His thoughts drift to his shift at the Citadel the night before. When he had shown up, things had seemed...muted compared to his first shift two days ago. Ignis had already gone for the night, and Noctis kept himself locked in the office until Prompto’s shift was over. He had debated several times knocking on the double doors to see if everything was alright, but he erred on the side of caution and the fear of fucking up.

Prompto did all he could to tell himself that there was surely some reason behind it all _not_ related to the Tea Incident.

He’s saved from going on another trip down anxiety road when he hears scratching at his door. He looks up, listening, and when he hears it again, he hops off the stool and runs over, throwing the door open without looking out the peephole.

He doesn't need to; he knows who’s there.

“Tiny!” He exclaims and kneels down to greet the dog. She barks once and accepts Prompto’s pets eagerly.

Prompto rises and lets the dog enter. Tiny immediately trots over to the small kitchen like she owns the place and lies down, panting heavily.

Prompto opens his pantry and takes out one dog biscuit. He sets it on the ground in front of her. She instantly sits up.

“Stay…”

Her blue eyes stay focused on his hand, held up to enforce the command.

“Stay…” Prompto sits on the ground in front of her. “Okay!”

Tiny takes the treat in one fell swoop, and then her front paws tap dance on the floor, toenails clicking. Prompto reaches to the small pack strapped to her back, taking out the small notebook of worn leather.

Tiny lets out a small high-pitched bark and hops up, before tapping her front paws again. Prompto gives her a stern look.

“You know you’re only supposed to get one!”

She paws at his knee. Prompto sighs.

“You’re spoiled rotten you know.” He stands and gets one more biscuit. “You’re lucky I keep stocked up.”

He tosses it in the air, and Tiny hops up to catch it. He smiles. He’s never had a pet—they are expensive, and he never wanted to put himself, or the pet, at risk in not being able to take care of them. But having Tiny visit, even if it wasn’t as often as he would have liked, made up for it. At least then he could pretend for a minute.

He carefully sets the notebook down on the counter, sliding his coffee aside to reduce any possible risk of spilling on the precious pages. There’s a blue silk bookmark he reverently takes between his index and thumb, and he slowly opens to the page its marked.

_Dearest Prompto~_

_I hope you’ll forgive me for the delay in writing to you. As I last said, I was preparing to travel from Tenebrae for work. It turns out there is much more to do than I had anticipated. It seems like my path will lead me through Lucis, and towards you and Noctis, before the end of this year._

_I do hope to see you. And please tell me about your interview with the Crownsguard—I am sure you won them over easily._

_With Blessings, Luna_

Prompto stares at the words. He flips to the next page because there must be something more to this—but she says she wants to see him and Noctis, and there’s something clenching in his stomach. He can't believe that after all these years, they might be able to meet. And that he is in a place where maybe the three of them can be in the same room.

It’s so fucking _weird_. Like, things usually didn’t work out this well for Prompto.

He needs to reply to Luna before he gets distracted and because Tiny is growing impatient at his side. But his phone rings, and when he sees the number he panics and picks it up quickly.

“H-hello?”

“Argentum,” Cor’s voice, confirming it is indeed him, makes Prompto almost drop the phone.

He stands at attention just in case somehow The Immortal can see through the phone. “Sir.”

“Khara has an emergency and needs to tend to their family. Can you come in?”

Prompto glances up at the clock on his microwave. It’s eight in the morning, which means he would be working until noon. It’s technically his day off, but…

“Absolutely!”

“Meet at the entrance to the royal training grounds as soon as you arrive.”

“Yes sir!” The phone goes quiet on the other end. Prompto stares at the screen. There had of course been an exchange of phone numbers with the job, but he had never thought Cor would actually be calling him.

What a fucking world.

Something scratches his leg. He looks down and remembers what he was doing before Cor called. “Oh shit, Tiny, sorry. Uuh. Hold on.”

He grabs a pen out from one of the drawers in his kitchen and tries to write something meaningful as fast as possible.

_Hey Luna!_

_So much has happened since my last note! The short version is, I got into Noctis’s guard! It's been a couple of weeks and I’m still terrified about 90% of the time, but Noctis doesn't seem to hate me so that's a plus? I’m not sure about Ignis. Gladio seems nice, too. Nyx was the one showing me the ropes. It feels weird because these are all such super important people, and I’m well. Me._

_Anyways!! Yes, please I would love to see you and talk through more than pen and paper. I'm sure that since I am with Noctis in the evening shift, we can make something work._

_See ya soon!_

_-Prompto-_

He slides the notebook back into the satchel, gives Tiny a few good pets, and then opens the door for her to leave. She trots out with a small huff.

“Right. Work.”

He gives himself a good look in the mirror and decides he is good enough as is. Teeth brushed. Deodorant on. He throws on his uniform as quickly as he can before he is running out the door.

Once at the Citadel, Prompto stops at the fountain and purifies himself, whispering a quick, urgent prayer to the gods. He makes his way down a hall, looking for the door to the royal training grounds. It’s not one he is familiar with because it isn't one he has ever been to, but he is saved from having to open every door because he sees Ignis, standing in the hallway.

“Argentum,” Ignis nods in greeting as Prompto almost slides up to him, “thank you for coming in on your day off.”

Prompto salutes. “Ya, of course.”

Ignis leads him to the double doors, guarded by two more Crownsguard who opens the doors for them both.

Prompto has been in the training grounds a lot, over the last four years. But he hasn't been in the ones reserved for the prince. Well because duh, no one else was. Prompto tries not to stare as he walks over to where Ignis is meeting with Khara. This room is part training grounds and part open courtyard, with high pillars towards one end that he has seen used for warping practice. It’s overall much more pristine though, than the rooms he has trained in.

Khara salutes and Prompto does the same, before he takes his leave. Prompto is not instructed to stand anywhere else, so he stays by Ignis’s side and turns to look at the pair currently fighting. A few fellow glaives have gathered on the outside edge, watching Gladio and Noctis spar.

“You are in for a treat today,” Ignis murmurs.

“Huh?” He catches himself too late but Ignis doesn't comment on his lazy response.

Ignis doesn't reply. Instead Prompto hears a crack of thunder and bolts of lightning cascade around the center of the training ring. His first instinct is to make sure Noctis is okay, but when Ignis doesn't move an inch, he holds his ground. He sees Noctis running—no, _warping_ , around Gladio.

One of the pillars is smoking, likely hit by Noctis’s magic. Gladio throws something—like some sort of drone, up in the air towards the top of another pillar as Noctis charges at him. He almost stops in his tracks as the drone flies overhead but instead, the second his feet start to slide he warps, this time in the direction of the drone. At the top, the drone starts to fly higher but Noctis sends out another wave of lightning and backflips off the pillar, warping _backwards_ to land a safe distance away from Gladio with his sword at the ready.

“Again!” Gladio shouts.

Prompto has zero idea what could have been wrong there, so he only assumes they run it again to give Noctis the practice. But every time, there is something just slightly different to how Noctis moves, barely noticeable but there, that he gets better and better, and Gladio smiles wider and wider after every run.

The shift and phasing is something surreal. He’s seen warping and magic before, so he isn't new to the concept of it. But seeing Noctis practice those skills is a whole other ballgame. He moves fluidly, without any nausea it seems, without any need to pause and wait a beat after moving. And the magic he uses—he’s mastered all the elements. Prompto sees them all. Gladio shouts a spell, and Noctis attacks one of the target dummies with ease. Fireblast, ice daggers, more lightning.

At one point Noctis comes closer to them to avoid an attack from Gladio, and Prompto sees the power in his eyes.

They shine a bright purple; luminescent, otherworldly.

Prompto holds his breath. This is the power of the Chosen King. Everything he had believed or not believed, it's all somehow showing up here in this moment. Prompto has goosebumps running up and down his body and he fights not to visibly shiver. But he also feels suddenly very small in this large room.

“What the hell does this guy need protection from,” he says under his breath.

Ignis gives him a pointed look. “The prince is strong, but he cannot do everything. He cannot see everything. That’s our purpose.”

Ignis turns back to the fight without another word, and Prompto bites his cheek to stay quiet. The other glaives are weirdly silent as they watch.

Over the course of the hours-long session, what’s interesting to Prompto is how Gladio fights Noctis compared to training with the Crownsguard or Glaives. He is dressed clearly with the prince’s presence in mind—long pants, long sleeve shirt and gloves. Nothing like what Prompto had seen him wear in training with the regular guards.

Gladio is wielding a greatsword—well, a large wooden replica of one that is, and it keeps him at a safe distance from Noctis. Such weapons are generally only used at the start of training. Prompto can understand why they wouldn’t want to use real weapons here.

But Noctis _does_ have a real weapon and does try to get close, warps and moves in close to fight with his sword. And one time Gladio manages to connect with Noctis’s sword. They are at a standstill for a breath, and then Gladio does some crazy move that makes Noctis flip around like a somersault. Noctis lands on the floor with a loud grunt. Gladio stands over him, sword pointed at his face.

Prompto has been holding his breath. He wheezes.

Gladio holds out a hand. Prompto forgets to breathe again. Noctis takes his hand and is helped up, and once standing Gladio claps him on the shoulder and moves away.

Prompto knows he has his mouth hanging open, but that was the first time he’s seen anyone touch Noctis and he somehow feels so scandalized it's almost funny.

His expression is clear to Ignis because Prompto catches something in his face changing out of the corner of his eye. Prompto tries to cover his mouth with his hand and clears his throat.

“Shield Amicitia is one of the few who can interact with His Highness in such a way,” Ignis speaks low. Noctis and Gladio are going through the same move again, Gladio showing Noctis how to avoid getting knocked back.

“He undergoes a long, intense purification ritual before working with His Highness. On a larger scale than what you undergo at the fountain. It is only after that he is able to train with His Highness in this fashion.”

“Oh,” Prompto isn't sure what else to say. He wants to know more about the ritual, but he figures maybe that's something he can get out of Gladio later. He seems easier to pull information out of than others.

Prompto likes Ignis, in theory, but it always feels like he is on guard around Prompto.

Noctis and Gladio try the same move again. This time when their swords meet, Noctis moves quickly and gracefully to slide up and twirl around to be at Gladio’s side before sweeping a leg to knock _him_ down to his back.

Prompto claps his hands together “Woo!”

Everyone stares at him for a handful of seconds. Noctis waves at Prompto and Ignis, and he finds himself waving back.

“Argentum, you are on duty,” Ignis whispers. “Kindly remember that.”

Prompto straightens up. “Yes, sir.”

Ignis nods in approval as Noctis and Gladio walk towards them.

“Excellent lesson, Gladio.”

“Thanks Ig—”

Prompto hops on the balls of his feet. “Dude, you guys looked so cool! Like something out of a video game!”

This time Noctis seems shy, looking away a little. Gladio lets out a laugh, and Ignis sighs.

Shit, right. Prompto is supposed to be chill. “I mean, your form. Really solid.”

“I think we are past the point of pretending here,” Ignis mutters.

Gladio steps forward and claps Prompto on his shoulder. A small part of him realizes Gladio just touched the prince as well, and something burns in him at the thought.

“Go easy on him, Iggy. First time watching the magic happen.”

“Ew.” Noctis uses his towel to swat at Gladio.

“Please, there are others around,” Ignis points out, and Prompto immediately stops grinning like an idiot.

“Specs,” Noctis says, and Ignis immediately meets his stare.

“Come, you must get yourself ready for this afternoon.”

“We’ll meet you after,” Gladio says with a nod. Prompto salutes.

“See ya, Prompto.”

“Bye N—Your Highness.”

Ignis keeps a bit of distance between himself and Noctis as he leads him away. Prompto watches.

Gladio bumps his elbow. “Iggy means well. You’re the new guy, he just doesn't want you to get in trouble.”

“I get it, I’m just. A bit starstruck I guess.”

Gladio pulls off his gloves and nearly rips his shirt off his back with a sigh of relief. “Fuck that was hot. I hate wearing all that.”

“If you go through a whole purification ritual, why do you have to still wear it?”

“That's just like...a backup. In case there is any accidental skin to skin contact. And even so, we have to avoid any contact with Noctis as much as possible, so wearing this gear helps.”

“Oh,” Prompto looks in the direction Ignis and Noctis went into. That was clearly where this purification happened.

“It takes hours, if you’re wondering,” Gladio wipes his face with his towel. “It’s no joke.”

“Ya, I get it,” Prompto flexes his hands a little. “So, you’re like, one of the few in the world who can get away with kicking his ass huh?”

He’s worried he’s misspoken, but when he looks up Gladio is studying Prompto with a smile. “Hah, ya, guess you could say that.”

“So uh,” Prompto looks around. The training grounds have become empty. “If I'm on shift now, what do I do while he’s in there?”

“Oh, uh, don’t worry about sticking around. You’re dismissed.”

“What?”

“He’s going to be in there for at least an hour, and then he still has to get all showered and shit. By then the next shift guard should be here. I can hang out with Iggy and Noct.”

“Oh, uh. Okay. Sure. Thanks.” Prompto’s stare lingers a little on the door Noctis went through.

“See ya,” Gladio knocks his shoulder with a fist lightly.

“See ya,” Prompto gives a smile that feels just a little forced. As he leaves the room, walking opposite of where Noctis is, it hits Prompto.

He wants to spend more time with Noctis, and he's actually disappointed he’s going home after just a few hours instead.

Prompto shakes his head at himself. He walks faster to get out of the Citadel, before he does something dumb.

* * *

Ignis finishes out the day in Noct’s office, not because they need to wrap up anything that evening but simply because Noctis prefers to work with company than without it. When they were younger, Ignis’s presence was more of a necessity to keep Noctis on task or to provide heavier assistance. Now it is more about enjoying the comforting silence of one another’s presence.

At least, that is why Ignis agrees to stay. His plans for the evening don’t require him to be in his own quarters, and if the choice is ever up to him, he would rather spend time with Noctis than without him.

So Noctis is at his desk, working on the first draft of a letter to one of the public charities he sponsors, and Ignis is on one of the couches in the sitting area. Noctis is a quick typist, but he works in starts and stops, with occasional muttering under his breath and calling out for Ignis’s opinion on word choice. As background noise goes, Ignis finds it pleasant.

Ignis himself is reviewing the profiles Gladio sent over. He typically prefers to have them printed out, or barring that, viewing them on his tablet, but his phone will do for today. This many years into their search, Ignis has all of the characteristics of the third Swordsworn memorized, as does Gladio. What Gladio doesn’t have is the patience to do deep dives into Crownsguard’s intelligence databases. Ignis enjoys that part of it, so Gladio does the first round of screening to weed out the obvious no’s, and Ignis gets to dig in deeper in the second round.

And it takes deep digging. There are a number of issues that arise from trying to find someone whose life can be neatly mapped onto a two-thousand-year-old prophecy. The first being that there is no true “original” version of the Cosmogony. Even the earliest copies come from two-to-three centuries after the supposed creation of the text, and those copies already have serious, and subtle, differences among them.

Even if one were to discount the passages deemed heretical and stick only to those accepted over the last fifteen hundred years, since the Third Tenebraen Council, the second issue is just as difficult to surmount: language. The Cosmogony was written at the dawn of what is known as Old Lucian, a bastard offshoot some four hundred years removed from the extinction of Classical Solheimian. The version of the Cosmogony most people are versed in today is a modern translation that, like all translations, has its own strengths and weaknesses. Meaning drifts, vocabulary shifts, foundational concepts crumble over the span of centuries.

Ignis has an entire twelve-volume set of thick, leather-bound books about the Cosmogony. Thousands of pages that closely examine the nuances of key sections or compare and contrast the different versions and major translations that have risen over the centuries. He only learned enough Old Lucian to satisfy his tutors, and so he must rely on the scholarship of others for the most comprehensive translations. And even then, there are so many things that are open to interpretation. How are they to understand when the Cosmogony says that the third Swordsworn is _as of the grains of sand in the desert_? Is it supposed to mean he is of common blood, unassuming and ordinary? There are other references to the third Swordsworn not being of noble lineage, so perhaps this is another reinforcement of that. But perhaps the emphasis should be on numbers, that he belongs to a class so endless that there is no point to counting.

The third issue is the sheer passage of time. The world is not the same as it was two thousand years ago; it is not the same as when the once-great Solheim fell. How would the Astrals, looking forward to the days of the Chosen King, describe the present to Oracles two millennia removed from any useful points of reference? Are the omens of the sky burning about literal fire falling in sheets from the sky, or are they attempts to describe Niflheim’s dropships and the destruction that follows in their wakes?

There are a few details within the Cosmogony that they are certain about and can use to weed out or include candidates. As for the rest, it is all guesswork and Noct’s choice, and Ignis has a fondness for good puzzles.

Noctis sighs like something inside him has broken. Ignis glances over and sees Noctis grimacing at his computer screen. “Everything all right?” Ignis asks.

“Think I need a break,” Noctis answers.

“Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Nah, I’m fine.” Noctis reaches both arms over his head and laces his fingers together. His back arches and mouth drops open in a yawn as he stretches. After the amount of magic he expended during his session with Gladio, it is little wonder he is tired this early. “Just been staring at the screen too long.”

“You weren’t planning to send the letter for a few days yet, correct?”

“Yeah, I’ve got time.”

“Then give your eyes a rest,” Ignis advises. “You’ve worked hard today.”

Noctis makes a noncommittal noise, but he does leverage himself out of his desk chair and head for the sitting area. To Ignis’s mild surprise, rather than taking one of the empty armchairs or even the empty couch, so he can sprawl across it, Noctis takes the empty seat next to him.

“What are you working on?” Noctis asks. He leans in carefully, and Ignis stays very still.

“I’m reviewing Crownsguard trainee profiles,” Ignis says. He angles his phone a little, so Noctis can see it better. “For your third.”

But instead of peering closer, Noctis pulls back a little, frowning. “You are?”

That was not the reaction Ignis expected. He swallows his first response, then his second. Ignis decides for his third, which keeps his surprise buried: “Yes, the Crownsguard trainees advanced another level last week, and so a new group came under Gladio’s supervision. He passed the profiles of those who passed his initial checks on to me.”

“Right,” Noctis says, but he still looks like he’s been thrown off-balance.

“Is something wrong?” Ignis had promised that he and Gladio would redouble their efforts in the search, so Ignis isn’t quite sure what he’s said or done that could have Noctis looking like this.

“No, it’s—that’s good,” Noctis says, but he doesn’t sound convinced of it.

Ignis isn’t, either. He shuts off the screen on his phone and sets it screen-down on his thigh. “What is it?”

Noctis looks away under the full weight of his attention. “It’s nothing.”

“It is very much something,” Ignis counters, but he keeps his voice gentle. “We do not, however, need to discuss it if you don’t wish to.”

Knowing when and when not to push with Noctis is a delicate balancing act. Ignis has gotten better at it over the years, but that doesn’t mean he can’t worry anyway. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t bungled things spectacularly from time to time.

Noctis looks back at him after a moment. “You’re not—getting rid of Prompto, are you?”

“I have no reason to,” Ignis says, and he works very hard to keep his expression neutral. “Do you think I should?”

“No.” It comes out quick, sharp.

Ignis waits after that exclamation, letting the silence after hang between them.

Noctis sighs when it’s clear Ignis isn’t going to say anything else. “I just—you’re kind of harsh on him, Specs.”

Well, that’s interesting. “I don’t think my treatment of him is significantly different from the way I interact with the rest of your guard,” Ignis says mildly. “Or rather, it wouldn’t be, if the rest of your guard also had similar difficulties maintaining proper decorum.”

Noctis stares at him.

“We’ve discussed this,” Ignis says with firm control of his irritation. “Crownsguard Argentum has little experience with nobility or at court in general, and I am concerned he may slip up in a way that will reflect poorly on you.”

“I thought you were supposed to smooth over those kinds of problems,” Noctis says. It isn’t quite a challenge, but there’s enough to bite to the statement that Ignis knows it could quickly turn that way.

“It’s far more efficient to prevent problems than to do damage control, Noct. Think of my blood pressure.”

It’s not much of a joke, but Noctis rolls his eyes. He makes a deliberate and obvious effort to lounge back into the couch. “I’m not actually _trying_ to provoke Prompto into being—the way he is.”

“I know,” Ignis says. He can recognize an olive branch when one is offered. “Argentum has done nothing worthy of dismissal, and we haven’t found anything about him that would contradict the characteristics we’re looking for. So, I have no intention of having him removed from your guard.”

“Good. He—” Noctis makes a face, clearly uncomfortable admitting the next part. “He didn’t freak out when he saw me sparring with Gladio. Or make it weird.”

The vulnerability in those words is nearly enough to bring Ignis’s guard down entirely. Ignis is under few illusions regarding the social aspects of Noct’s life. While Ignis might wish Argentum were more cognizant regarding private versus public spheres, it would not be a terrible thing if Noctis had someone in his orbit who did not look at him like the future salvation of Eos.

An idea creeps along the edges of Ignis’s mind. He considers it for a moment, then asks carefully, “Do you think Argentum is your third?”

Noctis makes a face again. “I don’t know,” he answers. “I just—it’s not awkward, having him around.”

Ignis could tease Noctis, about damning Argentum with faint praise, but that would be an ill-considered choice at this juncture. “Should we discover anything that rules him out as your third, I will inform you. And even if we do, that does not mean we have to remove him from your guard. But our search must continue regardless.”

“I know,” Noctis says. “And I want that. I really do.”

“Would you like to review the profiles Gladio sent with me?”

“Sure.” Noctis does sound interested, despite the brevity of his reply.

“Shall we go to your computer, then?”

“This is easier,” Noctis says.

He scoots closer, leaning in over Ignis’s shoulder. Close enough that Ignis can feel the heat of his breath along his jaw and the solid press of Noct’s arm and thigh against his. While their encounter in the kitchenette could almost have been an accident, this is not. Ignis goes very still but does not pull away.

Ignis takes a steady breath, then picks up his phone again. He will do his best to pretend he cannot feel Noct’s warmth soaking through his clothes. “As you wish. Don’t blame me if you end up with a headache.”

They go through the remaining profiles one after the other. They scratch the first together, once Ignis does a more thorough search through the family registries of the great houses of Insomnia and discovers the trainee is the descendant of a bastard branch of a noble family. The second and third, Ignis flags several items for him to research when he has more time and a larger screen. Noctis grows quieter, his comments fading into murmurs or quiet hums.

Partway through the fourth profile, Noct’s head drops on Ignis’s shoulder. It startles a sharp breath from Ignis, and his fingers grip his phone tightly.

“Noct?” he breathes.

But Noctis doesn’t respond. Ignis dares to look over, but all he can see is a slice of Noct’s black hair. Noct’s hair tickles his jaw and cheek, and his breath ghosts across his collarbone.

Ignis tries to bring down the sudden upswing of his heartbeat and is only partially successful. He listens carefully, feels the steady in-and-out of Noct’s breathing, and concludes that Noctis has truly fallen asleep.

He should wake Noctis. Get Noctis up off the couch and to the shrine, so he can take care of his nightly ablutions and worship and then tumble into bed. It can’t be entirely comfortable for him to fall asleep in this position. Ignis should either wake him or pull him down so he can stretch out.

He does neither.

Ignis closes his eyes and wills away the butterfly-delicate fantasy of pressing his lips to Noct’s hair, of wrapping his arm around Noct’s waist to draw him closer, of pulling Noctis down to rest his head in Ignis’s lap.

(Perhaps, if he had purified himself between the last meeting and returning here to Noct’s quarters—)

He does not dare move, and he is too selfish to wake Noctis and send him on his way. So when Ignis is steady enough to think again, he resumes his review of the final profile.

He will wake Noctis when he is done. Noctis clearly needs his sleep if he’s dropped off like this, Ignis tells himself. It would be better to let Noctis be.

Ignis almost believes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- If you made it to the end, please let us know your thoughts! 
> 
> \- Bless Prompto and his inability to hide his wonder and awe, and oooh wonder why he wants to hang out with Noct more? *___* 
> 
> \- Bless Ignis and his tangents that give us delicious information and angst all rolled into one, will he ever say no to Noct? <3
> 
> \- Huge thanks again to [ mage](https://twitter.com/mgmg_ff) for the beautiful art of Ignis and Noct!! 
> 
> See you next week!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto doesn't _think_ it's illegal or anything to take photos of the prince. But he doesn't want to take a chance of someone nearby seeing it. If they were to figure out who he is, the chain of events could lead to something like him being thrown into a cell deep in the basement of the Citadel for hoarding pictures taken without the prince knowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for all your support and kind words!! Things are starting to get moving, so hope you continue to enjoy!

Prompto has just stepped onto the last train of the night when his phone vibrates against his thigh. He waits until the train gets moving before he snags a spot to stand near the door to get it out.

He had anticipated, as he started this new job, that he would want nothing more than to sit after his shifts considering how much standing he had done during his training. But things have turned out, well. Really different.

Prompto takes another look around him. This late at night, the train is usually nearly empty, the passengers ranging from factory workers to guards to waiters and chefs. Tonight, there is a smattering of people in his car. None of them appear to be paying attention to him though, so he angles himself so his back is to the door and unlocks his phone.

It’s a text from Noctis: _hey don't forget we gotta finish that raid tonight okay hurry up_

Prompto smiles and types his reply quickly. He’s thankful the Crownsguard gloves have those cool fingertips so he can still use electronics without taking them off. He supposes they have to make those concessions when it's so important people around Noctis cover up.

_dude i just got on the train you know how long it takes me to get home ok_

The reply comes back within seconds. _ugh fine_

Prompto shakes his head. He almost puts away his phone, but instead he hesitates before swiping over to his gallery.

After he had gotten his first paycheck, he broke down and bought a new phone after all. Noctis had been so stoked to get to play Kings Knight with him and had only egged him on. Prompto also didn’t mind the added bonus of a sweet sweet amazing camera that went along with it.

He considers how his time with Noctis has developed over the course of the last few weeks. It’s not just about _guarding_ him; he somehow has become someone Noctis talks to, could almost say hangs out with, vents his frustrations to so he can forget about a bad day. So if all of this and playing a game on his new phone make Noctis genuinely happy, it’s totally worth it in Prompto’s book.

He isn’t sure if it’s actually okay, or even close to protocol, the way they hang out every night, but Noctis hasn’t made it seem like he’s done anything wrong. And that’s all that matters to Prompto, really. Noctis knows his limits, knows what he should and shouldn’t do. At the end of the day, he has to be the one to be comfortable, to say what he does and doesn’t want. Prompto hasn’t seen any evidence Noctis wouldn’t voice such a thing if he needed to.

Prompto goes through the photos he’s taken today. They start with his morning run. He always goes by the nearby park, visiting a family of geese he has become fond of. He’s been tracking their growth since he first spotted them and took okay-ish pics on his old phone, but with this new one he definitely has been getting a little fancy. It’s fun, like pretending he’s a wildlife photographer. He even started a series on his blog that’s just updates on the little guys.

Noctis even asks about them, because ya he didn’t just follow Prompto’s blog for show that first night.

The next set of photos is from his walk to the train station for work. The timing with the season right now means its usually golden hour, so the lighting is always just perfect with the way it hits the city skyline, or the way the flowers open for those last few moments of sunlight.

He feels a little silly sometimes, standing in his uniform taking pictures of flowers on the side of the road but he’s too excited by how crisp everything looks. He doesn't even have to mess with any settings, the photos are just automatically pretty fucking good. It feels like cheating, but hey, he figures he can have _one_ easy win in his life.

Then he gets to the part of his gallery from that day where he had started his shift. A picture of the view of the city from Noctis’s window. The fountains but in black and white and from a weird angle to make it more edgy. A photo of the cup with the fancy gold trim, steam rising from the freshly poured tea.

A photo of Noctis.

Prompto tucks the phone in a little closer to his chest.

He doesn't _think_ it's illegal or anything to take photos of the prince. But he doesn't want to take a chance of someone nearby seeing it. If they were to figure out who he is, the chain of events could lead to something like him being thrown into a cell deep in the basement of the Citadel for hoarding pictures taken without the prince knowing.

Okay, maybe there’s more reasons than just a photograph to fear that. But.

In the photo, Noctis is focused on a report Ignis had left for him to go through. He has a habit, when he’s hyper focused, to tug on his bangs and pull them to the side, twisting the hair between his forefinger and thumb. And Prompto snapped a photo at the moment he stuck his tongue out, just a little.

Looking at the image, he finds himself smiling all over again.

Prompto wonders, again, if he should delete the picture. But there's something so. Personal? So...something. That he has a photo of the Prince of Lucis, the Chosen King, looking...

Looking ordinary.

Prompto isn’t even sure _ordinary_ is the right word, because Noctis is clearly anything but that.

But really, that's what it feels like these days.

Going to work doesn't really feel like _work_ , not unless Noctis has something going on in the evening that requires him to be out somewhere in the Citadel during Prompto’s shift. Then they are all rules and formal names and proper procedures.

But if it’s a night in, which it tends to be most days, Prompto really just feels like he’s hanging out, not working a job that took him years of prep and a gnarly interview process to get.

Prompto closes the photo of Noctis so he can look at his gallery in full. Each day is mostly the same pattern—scenery pics during the day. Some sort of artsy photo around the Citadel at night.

A snapshot of Noctis doing something normal and mundane. Yesterday Noctis fell asleep on the couch while Prompto cleaned up after dinner, since Ignis had an urgent meeting to go to.

His finger hovers over the delete button. This one feels way more private.

He doesn't delete it.

Prompto really should go through and clean up his pics though because he has a lot he knows aren't worth keeping.

Or that he should even have taken to begin with.

He doesn't ever mess with things related to serious stuff. When Noctis has to go through purification, that's serious. He sees the way Ignis and Gladio look at Noctis with nothing short of care and admiration. Prompto wants nothing more than to give Noctis that same level of support in everything he has to go through.

Prompto’s also learned, over the last few weeks, that Noctis’s royal life is not all it's cracked up to be. It’s not that it’s bad, far from it, technically speaking. He lives a life more lavish than Prompto ever will. He gets good food every meal, he’s smart as hell, he can get any game he wants any time and the latest tech when it comes out.

Prompto though, he’s been catching on to small things. Sometimes in the photos he takes. He sees the way Noctis looks at Ignis, like he wants to say something more. He catches the way Noctis stares out the window of his room.

Prompto locks his phone. He lets his eyes lose focus as he watches the city lights fly by in the window across from him. He recalls the first night he worked and Noctis had wanted to see his shitty blog. At the time it had felt like a case of— _oh the prince doesn't get out to see his own domain, woe is he,_ like some sort of movie.

But now Prompto knows that's exactly what it is.

And so ya, okay, maybe he’s got a folder on his phone called _For_Noct_ so that he can text pics of things he sees throughout the day but not like. All the time. He saves them up to send even on the days when he doesn’t have work and makes sure not to spam him. But Prompto legit feels bad for him. He’s got so much in the world that others don't and yet he is also one of the loneliest people Prompto knows.

Fucking sucks.

So ya, Prompto has taken on the role of guard, but maybe also...friend. Kinda. He would never say that word out loud to Noctis, or to anyone, because ha, he knows how it sounds.

This was what Lady Lunafreya had wanted, but Prompto hadn't thought it would happen so literally. He thought he would get close to Noctis, be there to help out, be a guard. Someone to help protect Noctis when things got hairy. He never thought there was any chance he could actually be friends with the prince and future king of Lucis.

His phone vibrates. When he looks down, he can’t help but laugh out loud at the text.

_dude are you home yet_

Prompto laughs more and doesn’t care about the look the old lady sitting on the other side of the car gives. He unlocks his phone again and takes a photo that’s just his boots on the dirty steel gray floor.

He sends the picture attached to his message. _im still on the train see I AM NO LIAR_

Once again the reply is lightning fast. _you should have just stayed the night here so i wouldnt have to wait_

Prompto pauses. He knows it’s meant as a joke, but there’s something in the words that make his throat tighten up a little and his skin run hot. He tries to play it cool.

_No way Cor would pay me double come on_

Seconds tick by without a response. Then: _i could just pay you in video games he’ll never know_

Prompto inhales and holds his breath. His fingers hover over the screen and his brain is going into overdrive trying to navigate how to tell a prince _no_ when a new message pops up.

_btw that new game is out tomorrow you wanna play?_

He frowns. Noctis really isn’t making things easy for him tonight, but he can hardly fault him for it. Prompto wishes he could say yes, but.

_it’s my day off tomorrow. :( i so wish i could though._

He grips his phone tight. He looks up to see his stop is next, so he pockets his phone and steps closer to the door. He doesn’t want to see whatever sad puppy dog eyes Noctis is totally sending him, if the number of times his phone vibrates is anything to go by.

He tries not to think too hard about just how much he wishes he could see Noctis tomorrow.

* * *

Ignis does not get an immediate response from Noctis when he sends over the day’s agenda. Over the last few weeks, it has become more common to get a response some ten, twenty minutes after sending it. Not enough of a delay for any true concern—perhaps Noctis has just made a few adjustments to his morning routine—so Ignis hasn’t brought it up.

But today twenty minutes stretches into thirty and then forty, and Ignis realizes that if Noctis _isn’t_ up by now, they are in very real danger of being late this morning. Under other circumstances, it would be a simple enough matter to rearrange Noct’s schedule to accommodate a bit of a lie-in, but the first item on today’s agenda is a meeting with the board of Noct’s animal welfare charity. They only come to the Citadel twice a year to meet with him, and it would be difficult to reschedule.

Ignis texts Gladio and asks if he’s heard from Noctis; Gladio says no and adds that he’ll meet them in Noct’s suite in a couple minutes.

Ignis texts Noctis again and gets no response, so he grabs the materials they will need for the day and abandons his public office. If necessary, he can finish his own review while Noctis is showering and getting ready. He heads for the secure elevator immediately and is knocking at the door to Noct’s suite in minutes, skipping the temptation for a second purification only because of how little time he has left to get Noctis up and moving. Crownsguard Scaevola is there to let Ignis in.

“His Highness?” Ignis asks as he gets his shoes off and swaps them for slippers.

“Still asleep, I believe,” Scaevola murmurs. “I haven’t heard the shower yet.”

Ignis nods once and makes a beeline for Noct’s bedroom door. He knocks, waits two heartbeats for a response, and when none comes, opens the door himself and steps inside.

Noctis is fast asleep in his bed, curled up on his side with his dark hair in a tangle against his pillow. He looks peaceful there, beneath his rumpled bedding in a mostly dark room. A bit of sunlight leaks through the gap in the curtains, but the ray of sunlight cuts low across Noct’s bed. His hand loosely grips his phone, which means it’s likely the culprit for Noct’s tardiness is shutting off the alarm rather than hitting snooze.

Ignis is loath to wake him, but he knows Noctis would be upset if Ignis let him sleep in and miss the meeting.

“Noct,” Ignis says as he approaches the bed. He gets no response; Noctis must truly be back asleep rather than just dozing. “Noctis,” he says, louder, but he does not get an answer.

Ignis hovers at Noct’s bedside. Were this Gladio he caught sleeping, he would reach out and shake his shoulder without a second thought. Were it not forbidden, Ignis might be tempted to brush Noct’s hair off his forehead and—

He sets his portfolio on Noct’s nightstand, plants both hands on the edge of Noct’s bed, and gives it two hard shakes.

Noctis startles awake, flailing a little, and Ignis steps back quickly. “Good morning, Highness.”

Noctis groans at him and rolls onto his back.

It would be endearing if they didn’t have such a tight schedule this morning. “You’ve overslept. You need to get up.”

“Ngggggh,” Noctis says, and then he throws his arm over his eyes.

Ignis frowns, concerned. Noctis isn’t a natural morning person, but he normally isn’t this difficult to get moving. He usually manages on his own, and even if Ignis has to be the one to wake him, it isn’t this difficult to get him out of bed.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

Noctis makes a noise that actually has Ignis mildly worried.

“Noct?” Ignis hesitates, but he carefully sits down at the very edge of Noct’s bed, trying to get a better angle of Noct’s face. It’s difficult when Noct’s arm is in the way and when Ignis doesn’t dare reach for Noct, not even with the comforter and sheets between them. “Are you ill?”

“M’fine.” Words this time, which is a step up from inarticulate noises, mumbled though they are.

“You’re certain?”

After a long moment, Noct drops his arm away from his face, and there’s a startling clarity in the blue of his eyes. “Yeah, why? Do you think I’m feverish?”

It’s such an oddly specific question that Ignis pauses. He would have no way of knowing what could theoretically be making Noctis ill, so why—

Oh.

Ignis’s mouth has gone dry. Noctis hasn’t asked for or initiated any contact between them since the evening he fell asleep on Ignis’s shoulder. Ignis assumed Noct’s training sessions with Gladio were providing him with enough human contact that he hadn’t needed to reach for Ignis. “Would you like me to check?”

“With your gloves on?”

It’s so mildly asked that the question shouldn’t have the power to syncopate Ignis’s heartbeat. It still does.

Ignis isn’t sure how he can possibly form an intelligent response to that. He looks down at his hands and reminds himself to breathe. Then he hooks his left thumb underneath the leather of his right glove—

Heavy footsteps outside the door.

Ignis propels himself off the bed just in time for two sharp knocks to shatter the silence between him and Noct.

“Are you still asleep, Noct?” Gladio asks as he yanks the bedroom door open.

Noctis is most certainly not asleep. While Ignis put as much distance between them as possible, Noctis rolled over to the opposite side of the bed. He’s half off of it, angled in such a way that neither Ignis nor Gladio can see his face. “I’m going, I’m going,” he mutters as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Ignis fights to keep his expression neutral as Gladio turns to him, though the way his stomach has dropped out from under him, it’s a wonder he hasn’t gone bone-white. His ability to compose himself quickly apparently hasn’t failed him, because Gladio makes no remarks about seeing the guilt and terror that are choking Ignis.

He nearly took his gloves off in Noct’s presence. He nearly got _caught_ taking his gloves off in Noct’s presence, and by Gladio at that. Had Gladio been here but a minute later—

“Noct giving you trouble?” Gladio asks as the shower starts up in the background.

Ignis smothers the wild laughter threatening to bubble up his throat.

“Not really,” Ignis says, and he can’t believe how calmly the denial comes out. “He has been oversleeping a little lately, but this is the first time it has threatened to affect the schedule.”

“He’s been staying up late, probably playing one of his games,” Gladio says. “The guards on the overnight shift have reported hearing him when they were on duty.”

That would mean Noctis was up past midnight as the overnight shift is from midnight to six in the morning. Not so unusual as to be a concern, but unusual enough to be noted as the guards evidently had. “Well, he is an adult and can regulate his own bedtime,” Ignis says.

Gladio gives him a look—likely because Noctis is an adult and is proving unreliable in regulating his sleep cycle—but doesn’t argue.

Noctis doesn’t try to ask for contact again, either in word or in gesture, for the remainder of the week. Ignis is equal parts relieved and disappointed, as blasphemous as that is. (If it weren’t for the fear that works its way up his spine every time he relives the end of that moment in the bedroom, Ignis might think the entire thing a fragment of a dream.) Ignis is also concerned that Noctis doesn’t ask, given that Noctis also doesn’t have any training sessions during that time.

Gladio and Lord Amicitia are both out of the Citadel in order to attend to the extended mourning and rites associated with Lady Amicitia’s passing ten years ago. Their absence makes for a much quieter schedule for both Noctis and the king, as neither will meet with members of the public when their Shields are unavailable, barring an emergency. Gladio will also have to take an extra day for purification prior to returning compared to his father.

Despite Gladio’s absence and the lack of training sessions, Noctis does seem to be in good spirits rather than bored. Ignis ensures that Noctis still spends a few solo hours training to keep Gladio from grousing at them both when he comes back, but otherwise he is more than happy to give Noctis ample time to relax.

Ignis stays in Noct’s suite on the rare occasion Noctis makes the offer, and depending on which video game Noctis plays and how much concentration Ignis’s work requires, Ignis either joins him in the living room or stays in the dining room while Noctis plays.

Tonight, Noctis is playing a low-stakes farming simulator of some sort. He is sprawled out on the chaise arm of the sectional while his avatar on the television yanks weeds out of a cultivated field, and Ignis sits comfortably in the far corner, reviewing the last week’s military reports.

The most interesting is an alleged sighting of the Imperial General Glauca, but the Kingsglaive who tracked down the rumors found nothing at the end of the trail. Glauca is an interesting figure within the Imperial hierarchy: no known given name, no military family connections, no early history so far as Lucis can find. They’ve yet to even acquire an image of the man’s face, much less find an explanation for his sudden appearance leading the Empire’s military forces two years ago.

Whoever this mysterious person is, it appears that Emperor Aldercapt is actually promoting based on talent rather than nepotism. Granted, there wouldn’t be much option for nepotism after the various purges the emperor has enacted over the last decade. In his attempt to curb the ambitions of the nobility because of his increasing age and lack of heir, Aldercapt has been rather ruthless with the great houses of Niflheim.

Aldercapt’s semi-stable court makes intelligence gathering difficult. It seems new faces appear, disappear, and even sometimes reappear every month. And with the state-controlled press, it’s even more difficult to try to figure out who is truly on the outs with the emperor and who is feigning disgrace for some kind of scheme.

He vaguely notices when Noct’s phone buzzes. It doesn’t truly register until Ignis realizes that Noctis has actually set down the game controller and is entirely focused on his phone, despite the poor abandoned farmer doing idle animations in the middle of their field.

“Noct?”

“Yeah?” The answer is distracted, though Noctis catches himself and glances up briefly from whatever’s on his phone. Noct’s wearing an—interesting expression, not quite court polite, but something shuttered that isn’t normally aimed Ignis’s way. “Sorry, you want a turn?” He jerks his head toward the television.

“I’m all right, thank you.” Ignis isn’t exactly eager to sign up for a game that largely appears to be doing chores and monotonous manual labor for little reward. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Noctis ducks his head a little, just enough to obscure his expression further. “Just—talking to Dad.”

Ignis is a little surprised by that answer—he would have assumed Gladio before the king. Then again, Noctis had a good breakfast with his father just this morning, long enough that it overran their scheduled time, and Ignis had to cool his heels in the hallway with Scaevola for nearly half an hour before Noctis emerged in good spirits.

Regis and Noct’s relationship has become increasingly fraught after Noctis gained his majority and the war with Niflheim worsened. They have their highs and lows, but Ignis hopes they truly are climbing back out of the valley right now.

Noctis is rather reserved when it comes to his feelings, and Ignis feels a little bad for having inadvertently forced that much out of him. So he sets his tablet aside and rises to his feet. “I’m going to make tea. Would you like anything?”

Noctis glances up from his phone and actually smiles faintly. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you’re having is fine with me.”

It’s the closest Ignis will get to _thank you,_ and he does not mind that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Politics! Pining! Photos! 8D
> 
> Noctis is very much going to be the death of Ignis probably. How long do you think he can hold on?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So of course Prompto says the first thing that comes to mind: “Am I fired?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone! Hope you’re ready for Significant Things to happen. 
> 
> We also have more art for this chapter, this time by the fantastic [mysteriousbean5.](https://twitter.com/CarrieVogel5) Please check out her work!

“Aw come on, Noct!” Prompto groans and forces himself to concentrate harder on the screen, “how many fucking blue shells did you have?”

Noctis just cackles, and then they are both laughing. It’s another night in and Ignis is stuck working late, so of course that means Noctis gets to do whatever he wants. While Gladio was away, Noctis had started inviting Prompto in, moving from tea in the dining area to watching TV together on the couch. One night, Prompto’s shift had started when Noctis had been home for a few hours and playing some game.

Prompto had jokingly challenged him, and Noctis had taken him up on it, claiming that without Gladio around he had no one’s ass to kick.

So Prompto had assumed once Gladio had returned from his trip, Noctis would no longer ask to play games.

But he hadn’t. If anything, it had now become a nightly ritual. As soon as Ignis left, Noctis would slide into view in the hallway, controllers in hand and a wide grin on his face.

And every time, Prompto is more than happy to oblige.

Except that _tonight_ he’s getting his ass handed to him in this dumb racing game. Driving was never his strong suit in games. Give him a shooter any day—but Noctis has probably learned his lesson there and actively avoids shooters because then it's Prompto who is the one kicking ass in those games.

It’s fine.

The race ends and Noct’s character is the one flashing on the screen. He jumps up in a cheer while Prompto crumples on the couch in defeat.

“So fucking unfair,” he mutters while Noctis sticks his tongue out at him.

Again, it’s fine, because Noctis is smiling and laughing and enjoying himself. It makes Prompto smile wider.

“Okay, that’s it—” He pauses when he hears something that might have been a knock. They go quiet. Once again there is a sound more like scratching than knocking. It sounds like someone is out there trying to get in.

He and Noctis share a look, and Prompto is glad that at least he wasn’t the only one to hear it. Prompto sets down the game controller and straightens up his uniform as he briskly makes for the hallway. He pulls on his boots as quickly as he can get them laced up. With a quick look over his shoulder before he goes into the hallway, he sees Noctis quickly getting a blanket over him and has switched the screen to the television.

He gets That Feeling, the one that has been seeping into him slowly lately—guilt. It rises up into his throat again. Prompto pushes it down. Noctis wouldn’t do anything he wasn’t supposed to. Prompto has to believe in that. But they are both behaving like they were a pair of teens getting caught by their parents.

He certainly tries not to think too much about the implications of that train of thought.

Prompto shakes his head at himself because he really needs to get it together.

He looks through the peephole and doesn't see anyone. But then there is the sound again—this time he hears it clearly. Scratching.

“Tiny?” He says out loud as he opens the door. He hears Noctis shouting _what_ but ignores it as he stares down at a dog that is definitely not the pup he’s been sending letters through.

But this one could be Tiny’s sibling, easy. They had dark fur on top and white underneath, and markings across their nose. The markings were similar in shape to Tiny’s but only in so that he could tell they were clearly related.

“Uuuh—” Prompto jumps when the dog slides in past the door, between his legs, and trots all the way inside. “We have company? Noct?”

“Umbra!” Noctis shouts and the dog—Umbra, apparently—lets out a bark and spins in a circle before running over to him. Prompto steps back into the living room and watches as the dog hops onto the couch and smothers Noctis with kisses all over his face.

“You called him Tiny?” Noctis asks once Umbra has finally settled down next to Noctis. Prompto notices he has the same satchel.

Prompto is hesitant to step closer. “You, uh—is that a notebook?”

He doesn't miss the way Noct’s eyes narrow at him before he looks at Umbra and runs his fingers over the fur until his fingers hit the leather. “Ya, uh, Luna. She writes to me through it. Just kinda something we’ve done since we were little.”

“Ya, uh,” Prompto clears his throat, “there’s another one, right? Of the, uh—”

“Messengers?”

“Dogs?”

“I mean, technically they’re both.” Noctis has that look again, like he is getting ready to put himself on high alert, guarded. But Prompto can’t hide things from him, and he doesn't see how this could be considered a bad thing.

“So Tiny, she...” Prompto stutters and stumbles and steps closer. He sits on the couch, Umbra between him and Noctis. The dog lays on its belly and pants, looking between the two of them.

“I rescued Tiny when I was in like...middle school. Thought she was a stray, because she had a bad cut on her paw. But once she was able to walk again, she vanished during the night.”

Prompto scritches Umbra between his ears. He doesn't look at Noctis, but he can feel an energy crackling in the air like electricity. But he also can't stop talking, because he’s already committed to going down this path.

“At the time I was like, well, that's weird. Not like a dog to leave a place it has shelter and food but whatever—” he leaves out the part about how he cried for days because not even a dog wanted to be around him, of course.

“Then later Tiny came back—but this time with a letter.” He looks up as he says the last word. Noctis has gone very still, except his hands have both taken hold of the blanket over his lap and his knuckles are going white.

Prompto scoots closer to Umbra. He wants to reach over so bad. He isn't sure what's wrong but he feels it, feels the weight of something heavy coming down between them.

“Luna—Lady Lunafreya,” he feels it's better to keep this formal, “she thanked me for saving Tiny. I don't even know how the pup got out here, but I figured out eventually, like...divine something-or-other at play here. But that’s when—”

Prompto looks at the dog between them. It’s like Umbra gets it; he hops down and pads away until he vanishes into the dining area. Prompto watches him a moment to get his bearings. When he turns back to Noctis, he sees Noct’s brows furrowed, jaw clenched. Something clicks into place for Prompto as he realizes how it could look.

“We’re just friends!” he scoots closer, hands on the cushion and fingers grazing the edges of the blanket. His desire to reach out is at a maximum right now and the willpower it's taking to not behave like he would with anyone else in this kind of moment is eating at him.

“I swear, she just wanted to thank me, and we just. We kept in touch. And she asked me to find a way to meet you, but I—”

At that Noctis sits up, and Prompto thinks he's really fucked this up now, somehow.

“She thought we would be great friends, you and me! But I swear, I’ve never thought about her in any way other than a friend—”

Noctis looks away, working his mouth.

“Noct—”

“I thought,” his voice cracks. It makes Prompto scramble, makes him lean in and cling to the same blanket.

“I thought you were different.”

“What?” Prompto says before his brain can stop his mouth from moving. He’s so used to being wrapped up in his fears that being different is _bad_ that he almost feels silly to feel offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Noctis pulls the blanket towards himself and out of Prompto’s grasp. Noctis curls inward, chin lowering and eyes moving to the television. He has the controller with him, so it’s him who changes the settings to start browsing channels.

“Noct…” Prompto feels that rift between them growing and he isn’t even sure if he understands why. He swallows and moves closer, less than an arm’s length from Noctis even though he doesn’t even glance Prompto’s way. It's the same way he acts sometimes when someone is saying something he doesn't approve of, or like—it's the way he sometimes is in meetings or with council members. It’s never been a way he’s acted towards Prompto.

“Please tell me what you mean.”

He sees Noctis working his jaw, not even actually seeing the screen, like his eyes are out of focus.

“It’s nothing. Shouldn’t you be at your post? The next shift starts soon.”

For a beat Prompto panics, but the clock on the wall is in his view, and he sees it very much is _not_ that time of the night. His pulse quickens because Noctis is trying to get rid of him, and this is not good. Prompto won’t lose years of his life in one dumb moment. Prompto focuses on the television to gather his thoughts.

Different. Somehow, he thought Prompto was different, in a way that was clearly positive for Noctis. The word whirls around him, but he can’t quite figure it out. Is he different because he is not a noble? But that doesn’t matter, most of the Crownsguard are definitely not nobility.

Noctis hasn't turned from the television yet as Prompto tries and tries to figure this out. “Noct.”

The channel changes.

“Noct, come on.”

It changes again. And again.

Prompto’s frustration hits its peak. He takes a deep breath and turns to look at Noctis, arms now out of the cocoon of the blanket so one hand can tug at his bangs while the other holds the remote.

Prompto slides one leg up onto the couch and faces Noctis fully. “Hey, would you just talk to me? What the hell is going on?”

“I said it’s nothing, I just—”

“That’s bullshit.”

This time Noctis does look at him, but there is fire in his eyes and Prompto nearly cowers. But he holds himself still because he finally has Noctis looking at him again.

“I’m going to bed, I’m tired.” Noctis throws off the blanket and stands.

“Hey!” Prompto is once again not in control it seems as he leans forward, hand outstretched.

He grabs Noctis by the forearm.

Noctis pauses and stiffens up, his back to Prompto. And despite knowing that he sure as hell should _not_ be doing this, Prompto finds that he is too terrified to let go, as if maybe that is what will draw attention to what he has done.

Prompto has his gloves on, but Noct’s arm is bare. Darkness against light. It could be a really cool picture if Prompto could ever recreate it, but he will probably never get to, because he is about to die.

Noctis turns and looks down at where they are connected.

That finally breaks the spell, and Prompto jumps back as if burned, holding the offending hand against his chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” his voice is a whisper. Maybe the gods won’t hear. “I didn’t mean to, I just. Didn’t want you to leave.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He feels the couch cushions move, meaning Noctis didn't retreat to his bedroom. When he opens his eyes, Noctis is sitting close.

Very close. There is something in his eyes that's almost…

Happy? Prompto isn’t sure, but what he _is_ sure of is that he is very confused and terrified as fuck right now.

So of course, he says the first thing that comes to mind: “Am I fired?”

Noctis laughs. And that seems to break whatever the hell was happening before. Noctis leans against the back of the couch, supporting his head with his hand, and just _stares_ at Prompto.

“No, you're not. It’s ok.”

Prompto finally lets the offending hand rest in his lap. He’s still in shock because despite what Noctis is saying, this doesn’t feel like it’s okay, based on all the things he’s seen and been told. “Should I—the shrine? Do…you?”

Noctis shakes his head. He’s still looking at Prompto in a weird way. “It’s fine, I promise. My nightly ritual will be enough.”

“I won't be like. Smited by the gods or anything?”

Noctis laughs again, this time a bit louder and more like himself, and he sits up. “I said you’re fine.”

Then Noctis, he stretches out his hand and with his index finger extended, he pokes Prompto’s chest.

Prompto knows his eyes are wide because when Noctis sits back he makes a show of showing his hands, fingers dancing as his palms are splayed out. “See, nothing.”

“Dude,” Prompto glares, “that's not funny!” It almost feels silly how inwardly his nerves are on high alert and his heart is racing.

Noctis grins. “The look on your face kinda was.”

The nerves are replaced by relief in a wave that makes him blow air out between his lips. Prompto takes one of the couch cushions and with both hands whacks Noctis in the chest. Noctis makes a surprised sound and grabs his own cushion, and then suddenly it's an all-out pillow fight like they're kids. It isn’t until Noctis knocks his glass of water off the coffee table that they finally stop, wheezing for more air.

Noctis gets a towel from his bathroom for the spill and Prompto puts the cushions back. He stands at a distance while Noctis cleans up, and after the towel has been tossed into the bedroom, they kinda just stand there.

“Look.” This time it's Noctis who looks unsure. “It just surprised me. About Luna. I had no idea.”

Prompto lets his arms hang at his sides. He suddenly feels very tired. “Course you didn’t. But why…?”

Noctis sighs and waves a hand. “It’s dumb, I was being dumb.” He looks directly at Prompto with his jaw set, determined. “I’m glad. That Luna asked you to meet me.”

The words make Prompto warm, and he feels that heat rising up his neck and he hopes the uniform hides it. “Me too.”

Noctis sits back down on the couch. The last channel Noctis landed on still playing quietly—it’s some sports channel, so they don't even pay it any mind.

“So,” Prompto slowly sits down on the couch as well, but he ensures there is some distance between them. He doesn’t want to push his luck tonight, not more than he already clearly has. “We’re cool?”

“Ya, but, just. Be careful, you know.” Noctis has taken up the controller and resumes channel surfing.

“Huh?”

“Gladio would probably wreck you faster than the Astrals, if he had seen something like that.”

Prompto’s mouth goes dry. “And Ignis probably too, huh.”

At the mention of his adviser, Noctis blinks, once, and he glances at the tv for a second before he replies. “Ya, him, too.”

Neither of them is really watching TV. Prompto picks at the blanket that now acts as the barrier.

“Does it suck? To, like...be like this?” He isn’t sure if it’s okay to just outright talk about the rules around Noctis, but he figures since they’ve just breached everything he’s ever learned maybe they should at least talk about it.

Noctis tugs the blanket back over him. He shrugs one shoulder. “It's been so long now. Guess it's just what I'm used to. And I mean, my dad, Luna...they are permitted to. Ya know. And Gladio, when we train.”

Noctis shifts and sets the remote down. He scratches at his cheek. “It’s weird, sometimes. But I'm pretty used to it, so I don't really...need. It.”

 _It_ being touching, the unspoken thing here. Prompto nods his head a few times. “I get it.”

“The shrines help, I think, so.”

“Man, the first time I had to go through that was so scary. Gladio doesn't mess around. I was like oh, fuck, please don’t let me somehow desecrate this Shiva water.”

Noctis looks at him with one eyebrow raised. “Shiva water?”

“Ya, like—that water in the shrines is all holy and shit, brought down by priests from Shiva’s resting place, etcetera etcetera?”

Noctis snorts and immediately covers his mouth with his hand.

“What’s so funny?”

He removes his hand but he’s still laughing. “Is that what they are telling you guys?”

“What do you mean telling us, that’s not true?”

Noctis laughs again. “Think about it—you think we have priests risking their lives traveling to and from Niflheim?”

Prompto lets his mouth hang open. “Oh...ya. I guess. That would be kinda dumb.”

“I mean, if it helps people take shit seriously, I guess,” Noctis wipes at his eyes, “but the priests just bless regular tap water.”

Prompto falls back against the couch. “I can’t believe Gladio led me astray.”

“Mm,” Noctis hums, “he is my Shield you know.”

Prompto rolls his eyes. “Okay, but still. Like, this shit is already scary. He just. Adds to it. With his…” he makes a vague gesture with his hands, “his everything. And then Shiva water.”

“He’s a softie, trust me.”

“Ya, really fucking soft when he’s kicking the shit out of me for breaking a sacred tradition.”

“I said it’s fine.”

“I know, I know.”

Noctis changes the tv back to the game they had been playing. He grabs the two controllers and hands one back to Prompto.

He takes it like it's an offering, because really, he feels like it is. Like whatever had happened, they were okay again, and something loosens in Prompto’s chest and instead he feels warm. Noctis gets the game set up, and they both settle on the couch.

Prompto doesn't miss how, this time, Noctis sits a little closer. Not touching, but less than an arm’s distance between them.

Prompto has to bite on the inside of his bottom lip to keep from smiling wide.

“Ready?”

“Ready to kick your ass!” Prompto says, and this time when he looks at Noctis, he lets himself smile.

And Noctis smiles back.

There’s a bark from the kitchen. They both jump, and this time they both shout. Umbra appears from around the corner, and Prompto could swear he looks irritated.

Umbra huffs and stomps one paw on the carpet.

“Shit, Umbra, sorry boy!” Noctis scrambles off the couch, and Prompto watches as he kneels in front of the dog and gives him some pets.

Noctis motions towards the notebook. “Is it okay if I—”

“Ya, of course, s’fine. I’ll go through my photos from today. Saves me time later.” he hops off the couch and gets his phone out of his pocket. He walks over to the table. “Tell her I say hi?”

“Tell her in your own letter.” Noctis says it with that playful attitude that Prompto knows means he's just messing around, so the last bit of nervousness unfurls itself. Noctis goes to a small cupboard and takes out a treat. Prompto watches as Umbra hops over excitedly and he laughs a little at the sight of Noctis holding the biscuit up and then dropping it for the dog to catch mid-air.

“Tiny can sit pretty for a treat,” Prompto says with an edge of a challenge he knows would bait Noctis easy.

“Tch, sit?” He grabs another treat. “Umbra can do this—up boy!” He holds it high up and Umbra hops up onto his hind-legs. Noctis scoots back and Umbra _hops_ to follow. Prompto can’t help laughing.

“Jokes on you, I got you to give him another treat.” Prompto smiles when Umbra looks at him while eating the spoils of his victory.

Noctis settles at the table with the notebook. Prompto checks some social sites and then browses his gallery. He wants to try to update his blog in the morning with pictures he had gotten of the sunset today. When he next looks up, Noctis is focused on his task, obviously reading whatever Lunafreya has written, pen in his hand tapping on the table.

Prompto switches his camera on and angles the phone in a discreet way, before he snaps a photo that shows Noctis writing, and the dog, Umbra, sitting right beside him, watching Noctis closely.

He locks the phone and sets it down. He sighs and closes his eyes a moment, clenching the hand that had gripped Noctis closed and open again.

* * *

This close to the Crystal, Ignis can feel the hum of its magic in his chest. He has been to the Crystal’s chamber multiple times, first for his own ceremony, and then at Noct’s side whenever it came time for King Regis to connect new members of the Kingsglaive through him and to the Crystal.

It is an official ceremony, and as such, both Noctis and his father are in their full royal regalia, with Gladio and his father likewise attired and flanking them. Ignis is relegated to the periphery as an advisor along with the small crowd of spectators, which he does not mind. This is not an event where Noctis will require his advice; everyone else in the chamber beyond the king and the soon-to-be-Kingsglaive truly are superfluous. Crownsguard Valeria is relegated even further away, near the doors.

Noctis is attentive even though he is a silent observer. His gaze is focused on Regis and the woman kneeling at his feet. Regis has both hands on her bowed head, and his hands glow purple with the Crystal’s magic while the woman recites her vows. Noct has only done this twice, first with Gladio, then with Ignis, both now several years in the past. Ignis still remembers the press of Noct’s hands over the crown of his head, even more than the rush of magic that followed or the vow Ignis made to serve him.

The woman gasps, sways on her knees, but manages to get back to her feet on her own. She bows deeply to the king and retreats, now part of the Kingsglaive. A man steps forward to take her place.

The people come forward, one by one, and are blessed with the Crystal’s magic. Even though the process only takes a few minutes, at nearly two-dozen people, the ceremony takes time. Ignis tries not to let his mind wander, but by the time they are halfway through, his thoughts have drifted to the remainder of Noct’s schedule this afternoon.

So he doesn’t know if there was any kind of warning before King Regis collapsed.

The Kingsglaive he was connecting to the Crystal and Clarus both manage to keep Regis from hitting the stone floor at full speed.

The room explodes into noise, but above it all, Noct’s voice can be heard: “Dad!”

Noct’s shout pierces Ignis’s heart, and Ignis hurries toward him, knowing that Clarus’s bellowed _clear the room_ does not apply to him. Clarus already has Regis on the ground on his back, and relief sweeps through Ignis when Clarus positions Regis to maintain his airway and then checks his breathing but does not begin resuscitation efforts.

The Kingsglaive who helped catch Regis scrambles out of the way as Noct crashes to his knees at his father’s side. Noct’s hands hover, uncertain, before he settles one carefully on the center of Regis’s chest. His shoulders slump in relief after a few seconds, probably once he feels the rise and fall of his father’s chest for himself.

In the background, Ignis hears Drautos on his headset, calling down to the Citadel infirmary for help. Gladio towers behind Noctis in a defensive stance, even though it’s fairly obvious that this is a medical event, not a traumatic one.

Ignis hovers a short distance away, feeling rather useless. The two Amicitias have their charges well in hand, Drautos is arranging assistance, and the senior Crownsguard and Kingsglaive who were present are clearing out the spectators and junior members and securing the room.

Noctis swears under his breath, but it is angry, not scared, and Ignis watches as he starts unfastening his father’s epaulet and cape. Clarus does not stop him.

“Two minutes for the medics to arrive,” Drautos says quietly.

“Was he okay before this?” Noctis demands. His voice does not shake, but his fingers fumble with the clasps. “Is he sick?”

“He didn’t seem ill this morning,” Clarus says. His voice is also even, but something shadowed lingers in his eyes. It is clear that he is just as concerned as Noct, if better at maintaining a facade of serenity. “Nothing was amiss.”

“Has he been eating? Sleeping?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Noctis presses his hand to his father’s chest again, and when satisfied Regis is still breathing, starts working on the knee brace. “Pain?”

“Nothing worse than normal, so far as he said.”

“Was he being honest?”

A fleeting pinch at the corners of Clarus’s mouth. “He was walking a little slower today but insisted he could manage with his cane.”

“You need to convince him to use that godsdamned walker when he needs it,” Noctis snarls. The words are blunted, coming out tangled and thick. “Six knows he doesn’t listen to me.”

Clarus doesn’t argue with either statement.

A commotion at the doors draws Ignis’s attention, but it is only a team of medics arriving with a gurney. Ignis steps back to give them more space to work, and even Clarus rises from his feet and steps back.

The medics pull up short. Two circle around Regis, taking the opposite side from Noctis. The other two freeze at the gurney. One says, “Your Highness, if you would—”

Noctis doesn’t even look at them. His eyes are entirely fixed on his father.

“Noct!” Gladio’s voice is sharp enough it gets Noctis to look up. “Get out of the way.”

Noctis goes an ugly shade of red when he realizes the medics are too afraid of being close to him to help the king, but he scrambles out of the way. The moment he’s away from Regis, the other two medics swoop in and help pick up the king and put him on the gurney. As soon as they have him secured, they start wheeling the gurney back toward the doors. Clarus follows closely behind.

“Can I—” Noctis swallows, unable to finish his question.

Gladio’s expression softens. “We’ll follow them.”

“Go, Noct,” Ignis says. “I’ll handle things here.”

Noctis nods sharply, but he doesn’t say anything. He just trails after his father, with Gladio before him and then Valeria in his wake.

Ignis takes a moment to gather himself and then starts picking up the discarded cane and pieces of royal regalia.

After a battery of tests, the medics conclude that King Regis collapsed from overexertion, both physical and magical. It is a small relief, though the Citadel is undoubtedly buzzing about the news. But at least the king is allowed to retire to his suite with a doctor on hand and an IV in his left arm.

Clarus and Gladio flank the bedroom door. Ignis hovers in a corner, near the doctor.

He remembers when Noctis linked him to the magic of the Crystal. For one terrifying, dizzying moment, he felt like he could _see_ all the magic of the world held within its depths. For a moment, he wasn’t certain his heart would keep beating. And then that vision was gone, and Ignis was looking up into Noct’s bright, glowing eyes.

The Ring of the Lucii grants its bearer immense magical strength. Without it, it took a great deal of effort for Noctis to connect Ignis and Gladio to the Crystal’s magic. With it, Regis sustains the magical connection for a small army and a Wall that repels daemons.

With it, Regis’s life is being scraped away, little by little each day.

Noctis sits at his father’s bedside and holds his free hand loosely in both of his. He looks very—young. Much younger than his twenty-two years. He’s quiet, attentive, but very still, and it makes Ignis’s heart ache to watch him.

After almost an hour, Regis stirs. Noctis catches the movement first. He leans in closer and murmurs, “Dad?”

The king makes a sound, soft and low, that could almost be _Noct._

The doctor steps forward, so she is on the opposite side of the bed from Noctis. “Back with us, Your Majesty?”

Regis’s brow furrows, but his eyes open. They are paler than normal, not quite glassy. But instead of answering the doctor, Regis turns his head toward Noct. Ignis can’t see the expression on Regis’s face from this angle, but whatever is there makes Noct fingers curl tighter around Regis’s right hand and the ring it bears.

“Hey,” Noctis says, voice tight. “Pay attention to the doctor.”

A ghost of a laugh emerges from Regis, but he does manage to turn back to the doctor. She does a brief examination then declares him fit enough to stay the rest of the evening in his suite, recovering. Regis is, she says quietly but firmly, to cancel his schedule tomorrow and to be on a reduced schedule the day after that.

Clarus promises that tomorrow has already been cleared. Noctis says, “I’ll take care of the day after tomorrow.”

“I can take care of myself,” Regis says as the doctor takes her leave.

“No, you can’t,” Noctis says, and it comes out sharp enough that Ignis feels the weight of the silence that settles across the room. “Or you wouldn’t have passed out.”

“Noctis.”

But Noct plows right past the warning tone in his father’s voice. “If you won’t let me take the Ring and the Wall, then fine. But at least let me take on the Kingsglaive.”

“It would be too much of a strain for you without the Ring.”

Noctis scoffs, and apprehension sinks sour through Ignis’s gut. “And it’s too much of a strain for you with the Ring, isn’t it?”

“That is not your burden.”

“It doesn’t have to be yours anymore,” Noctis bites out. Then his voice twists, turns pleading. “Dad. Let me help you.”

Ignis knows it is a lost cause the moment Regis’s expression smooths out into his court mask. Noctis does, too, because he lets his father’s hand go without a fight when Regis pushes himself carefully up to sitting. Noctis doesn’t help, he just stares at his father, his own expression settling into hard lines.

“I will manage on my own,” Regis says quietly. “I do not need your help yet.”

Noctis stands up, his body stiff with tightly leashed anger. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He bows deeply, to the point of insult, and strides out of the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise of hands, who thought Prompto would break the rules this early on? Who thought he’d hold out until at least halfway? XD 
> 
> Thanks again to [mysteriousbean5](https://twitter.com/CarrieVogel5) for her art of Prompto and Noctis!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis does not look forward to the day that Noctis puts on the Ring of the Lucii. For all the prophecies have to say about Noct’s potential, for all that Ignis has seen Noct’s magical strength and ability, when Noctis puts on the Ring, it will start to wear away at him, much like it is doing to Regis. 
> 
> Is this where they will be in thirty years? Him and Gladio, helpless against the Ring, watching it chip away at Noctis day by day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best, honestly. <3 We had a good laugh about how many of you were entirely unsurprised that Prompto would break The Rule so early.
> 
> Poor Prompto. 8D

Prompto first catches on that something out of the ordinary is going on as he walks up the stairs of the Citadel. There are some Kingsglaive standing around the courtyard before the doors, and everything about how they are holding themselves screams _worry._

Prompto wants to pause so he can listen in on their conversation, but then he would be late for his shift. So instead, he just slows his steps, pretending to be focused on reading his phone as he walks. Their voices are hushed but not low enough where he can’t hear.

“His Highness looked so worried.”

Prompto makes as if to stop to fix his boot, all his worry about being late thrown out the window at the mention of Noctis.

“His Majesty really should be more careful.”

He rises and returns to his phone but takes his time.

“Argentum!” A voice shouts from ahead of him. Prompto snaps his head up and sees Cor holding one of the doors open.

Which is also unusual. Prompto knows now something is definitely up despite the usual scowl on Cor’s face.

“Sir?” he immediately pockets his phone and salutes when he is in front of Cor.

“Report to the king’s suite first thing.” Cor orders and walks past Prompto without waiting for a reply and without further explanation.

Glancing over his shoulder he watches Cor go to the group Prompto had been listening in on. Everyone’s lips are pressed tight, shoulders tense, as they listen to Cor.

Prompto’s curiosity bleeds into nervousness. He steps through the doors and inside the air is even thicker with tension.

He’s never been to the King’s suite, but he knows where it is. He walks in time with his heartbeat which means he’s walking faster than normal to get to the shrine. He takes deep breaths to make sure he goes through the ritual properly, even though all he wants to do is run right up to the king, to Noctis. To know what the hell is going on.

He manages to only spill a little of the water. He feels better though knowing it’s not Shiva water. He would laugh at the thought, if his anxiety wasn’t currently trying to claw its way up his throat.

He finishes purifying and heads to the elevator. He plugs in his code and enters it alone. It makes a chime sound when he gets to the floor and the doors slide open, and it’s like he’s just stepped into the end of the world.

There are more guards in the hallway, all wearing the same expressions as the Kingsglaive, but instead of talking to each other they just stand at attention.

Prompto sees Valeria, not right in front of the door to the suite but close, which is good because he knows he can ask her questions and she doesn’t mind. He pauses in front of her.

“Hey,” he whispers, “what the hell is going on?”

Valeria doesn’t move but she does glance towards the closed door before answering in a hushed voice. “His Majesty fell ill while swearing in Kingsglaive.”

Prompto sucks in a deep breath of air. If there is anything he’s learned in his time working on this guard, it’s that Noctis wants to do more to help his dad. He hasn’t seen too much of the conversation around this in person, but he has heard Ignis and Noctis discussing it some nights when he has to stay in the foyer while they go over the day.

“Understood,” Prompto whispers. Valeria gives a salute and turns towards the elevators.

Okay, at least now he has an idea of what he is about to walk into—

The door opens when he gets closer and he freezes. Noctis storms out and Prompto can very clearly _see_ the anger moving through him in how he walks. He doesn’t even give Prompto a glance when he strides by. Prompto has to clench his hands into fists to keep himself from trying to stop Noctis by reaching out for him.

Ignis follows immediately. Prompto this time side steps to the wall and watches as Ignis does give him a quick once over, but he doesn't stop, just nods as a signal to follow.

Gladio is next to emerge before Prompto can push off the wall to follow Ignis and Noctis.

Gladio doesn't look like he’s going to stop, so Prompto moves to walk in time with him to catch up to the others.

“Is he—”

“His Majesty will be fine,” Gladio rumbles low. He gives Prompto a quick look. “I’ll walk with you back up to his room but then I’ll leave you to it.”

They get to Noctis and Ignis at the elevator. “Sir,” Prompto says because that would be the professional thing to do here. Not to do what he really wants, which is to look at Noctis with all the concern he feels bubbling up into his throat. To reach out to Noctis. To tell him it will be alright, his dad is tough as hell.

Prompto swears he can taste the charged air in the elevator. Noctis stands at the back with his arms crossed and staring down at his feet. Ignis and Gladio stand near the front, which leaves Prompto between them. He looks down at their feet and debates for half a beat to tap his foot near Noctis’s. But then decides that wouldn’t be welcomed. While he has been getting to know Noctis more, they also haven’t gone through something to this scale together. Noctis seems the type to want to hide from things when he’s pissed, or be distracted somehow. Not to face it. At least not when Prompto’s been around.

He wonders if Ignis will stick around tonight. If he does, Prompto will be relegated to the foyer and won’t even be able to see Noctis and check in on how he’s doing.

The elevator door opens. Prompto steps to the side while Ignis and Gladio step out. Noctis exits and Prompto follows behind him. The guards are quiet as they pass them. At the door, Ignis steps in first, then Noctis. Gladio stays outside and raises a hand for Prompto to wait.

“Listen,” Gladio closes the door first before continuing, “keep a close eye tonight, listen out for anything out of the ordinary, you hear?”

Prompto nods. “Are you going home?”

“Staying here in my room tonight. Just in case. So if anything comes up, just call.”

Prompto salutes. “Yes, sir.”

Gladio lets out a sigh and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Prompto thinks if he holds in any more of the feelings he has he might explode. He hates being so empathic sometimes. “Are you...is. Everyone okay? Really?”

Gladio doesn't look irritated when he opens his eyes and focuses on him. “Ya, they are. Noctis is just...he knows how much is expected of him, in the future. I think sometimes he’s almost too eager. To get to that point.”

Prompto bites his cheek. “I mean, he’s worried about his dad, right?” He snaps his mouth shut because he shouldn't be referring to the king so casually.

It seems to go unnoticed as Gladio sighs and nods his head. “Ya, he is. So just. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Yup,” Prompto smiles and he is glad to see Gladio seem to relax a little.

“Come on,” he opens the door and Prompto follows him in. He hears movement in the kitchen, and lights on in that area of the suite. But he stops following Gladio and stands where it is proper for him to be. For now.

Gladio stops and looks to his right, then his left. He moves to the kitchen at his left, and Prompto hears Ignis’s voice. Prompto takes two more steps closer to try to catch what they are saying. But the sound of dishes being moved around it makes it tougher. The lights are off on the right, which means Noctis isn’t in the living room since there isn’t the glow of the television bouncing off the walls.

Prompto normally doesn’t mind having to stand guard whenever someone is around. But tonight, he does. Because tonight Noctis is upset. Prompto swallows around just how much he wants to help, how much he wants to try to be there for…

For his friend.

That word again. He straightens his shoulders and cracks his neck a little. The sounds in the kitchen die down. Gladio and Ignis appear in his line of sight.

“Argentum,” Ignis speaks softly as he approaches, “I know Gladio has already briefed you, but please let Gladio know the instant anything out of the ordinary happens. And ensure His Highness doesn't leave his quarters.”

“Yes sir.”

“Very good,” the two of them walk by. The door opens, and closes.

Prompto counts in his head. Waits until he is absolutely sure Ignis and Gladio should be off the floor.

He pulls out his phone. Then steps to where he can see the apartment in full. The office door is open, and no light comes from there. The kitchen and living room are empty, as he thought.

Only the bedroom door is closed.

Prompto sighs and goes back to the foyer. He clicks on his texts with Noctis and sends a quick chocobo emoji.

He puts his phone away because he doesn’t really expect Noctis to reply. But as long as he knows Prompto is there, it’s good enough. He’s made an offer Noctis can take or ignore. It’s the most he can do, really.

His phone vibrates. Prompto almost doesn't look but his heart has kicked up its rhythm a notch and his curiosity gets the best of him.

It’s just two chocobos. But it’s the permission Prompto needs. He moves quietly through the suite, to the closed door. There’s no light coming through.

He knocks, just once. It’s more of a warning than asking for acknowledgement because he knows the answer already. He opens the door slowly.

He hasn’t been in this room before. Of course not, he’s had zero reason to go in he realizes as he opens the door wider so he can see it fully. Prompto is hit with a wave of how personal this is.

A sliding glass door to a balcony allows for some light from the sun to give some warmth. The door is open a little as well to allow for a breeze that moves the dark curtains pulled to the side. It’s a large room, definitely larger than anything Prompto has ever called his own. There is just enough stuff in it to feel accurate to what he knows of Noctis—a gaming PC, the kind that lights up bright blue, and huge double monitors, a bookshelf full mostly of video games. But there are no photos, nothing that would show if Noctis has anyone in his life aside from who Prompto has already met.

Noctis isn't anywhere he can see. Prompto’s brain goes into alarm mode because he’s fucked up, Noctis has run for it out the window and this is it, he’s going to lose his job and probably die.

But then on the bed he catches movement as the dark comforter shifts. He curses in his head and takes another step. He doesn't dare close the door behind him because that feels like it would be. Way too much. He’s already a little dizzy.

“Noct?” He tests. The sheets move again. He steps closer. If this were anyone else he considered a friend he would be there, on the bed, sitting beside them. Maybe even some like...bros hugging. But this is not normal, so instead he just pauses about an arm’s length from the edge of the bed.

“You okay?”

This time there’s a noise like a short laugh. But Prompto knows it isn’t a good one. There’s more movement and then a flash of pale skin as Noctis lets an arm emerge from his cocoon. It rests palm up, fingers relaxed.

Prompto stops breathing.

He takes a small step closer and for the briefest of seconds he extends a hand. He thinks about how it would be to hold Noctis’s hand. To give him some comfort, this guy who seems to carry so much weight on his shoulders.

Then the words Noctis said himself ring in his mind. _If Gladio caught you._

The fingers twitch. Prompto has to believe Noctis isn’t asking for _that_ because...why would he? The last time had been an accident. And Noctis had touched him only to show Prompto wouldn’t immediately be smited. This isn’t an invitation to break like, the biggest rule ever, _again_.

No.

He sees Noctis’s phone on the nightstand to his right. He picks it up and slowly, very carefully, sets it into Noctis’s hand.

Fingers curl inwards and move against Prompto’s—slotting perfectly in between his own and it’s so soft, so intentional that Prompto pulls away like he’s been burned before he can really process what’s happening.

He watches as the hand tightens around the phone. Then the arm vanishes once more under the covers.

“You uh,” his voice cracks a little and Prompto pauses to try to get himself under control, “you wanna play King’s Knight?”

“No.”

The covers don’t move again. Noctis doesn't make any indication Prompto can stay. Doesn’t reach for him again. Prompto takes one step backwards.

Then another.

Part of him wants to move forward instead. To sit on the bed like he wants to. Shake Noctis by the shoulder and pull the sheets back and say _talk to me_. He wants to be someone Noctis can talk to right now.

But clearly Noctis wouldn’t want that. So Prompto walks backwards until he’s in the living room and closes the door.

The fingers of his right hand feel like pins and needles. He’s sure it's just his imagination.

But he flexes and unfurls his hand again and again as he walks back to the foyer and stands there quietly. Except for the roar of his worry and doubts loudly echoing in his thoughts.

* * *

The door to the suite closes behind Noctis, which means Gladio is filling in Argentum. Good, that’s one less person Ignis needs to manage right now.

“Noct,” he says, and he’s ready for when Noctis rounds on him.

“Don’t start,” Noctis hisses. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Ignis takes off his shoes and exchanges them for slippers. “Have you had any further thoughts regarding Argentum as your third?”

The question startles Noctis into momentary stillness. He looks down at his feet after a few heartbeats and takes off his shoes. “How am I supposed to know? It’s not like we interact much. He’s always just—lurking at the door.”

Ignis manages not to frown. He had hoped that Noctis would take some initiative in getting to know Argentum, though he can concede it’s one thing to have brief exchanges when there are others around and another to dive into a one-on-one conversation, no matter how relaxed Argentum has acted on duty. Noctis had no trouble evaluating previous candidates and deciding they weren’t the ones. Argentum is the first candidate that has made him hesitate.

“It’s not like the Astrals or the Crystal have decided to talk to me directly anyway,” Noctis adds as he shoves his feet into his slippers.

His anger has lost its sharp edge, but Ignis knows that fury and fear make Noctis hollow. The collapse is coming soon. “If that’s the case, then Gladio and I will see to rearranging the schedule so Argentum can be put on one of the daylight shifts.”

Noctis looks up at him quickly, almost surprised. “That’s—” Whatever he intends to say, he thinks better of it and scrubs his hand over his face. “Yeah, sure. That’d be good.”

“Should I have dinner brought up?”

“No,” Noctis says, and he starts down the hall. Ignis trails after him. “I’m just—I’m going to bed, all right?”

Ignis resists the urge to push further, but Noctis is finally down enough from his fury that Ignis doesn’t want to restart that again. If Noctis does end up hungry, the kitchenette is stocked with snacks, and he can even swallow his pride and place an order with the kitchens himself.

It seems—wrong, to just let him walk away like this. If Gladio and Argentum weren’t on the other side of this door, Ignis would offer Noctis an open hand. But they are, and the risk is too great. “Sleep well, Noct.”

Noctis waves back at him without looking and turns right out of the hallway, toward his bedroom. Ignis does not sigh and heads for the kitchenette instead.

There are a few dishes stashed inside the sink, more evidence that Noctis does in fact know where to find food in his own apartment. Ignis strips off his leather gloves and suppresses the memory of the last time he did dishes. He puts on the dishwashing gloves and gets to work.

Not long after comes the sound of the front door opening and quiet, but not soundless footfalls. “Here,” Ignis calls out quietly, as if the running water isn’t enough. He tells himself not to tense when the footsteps come up behind him—they’re not soft enough for Noctis.

“Ignis,” Gladio starts, but Ignis jerks his head to the side. Gladio doesn’t need to be told twice to make himself useful, and he moves to the other sink to start drying.

Ignis passes over a plate. He keeps his voice low. “Come to my quarters tonight. We need to adjust the schedule for Noct’s guard.”

If this were a better day, Gladio would likely make a suggestive joke about the invitation. Instead, all he says is, “What’s the plan?”

“We start having potentials shadow with Noct’s guard, even if they haven’t finished their training yet,” Ignis says. He passes over a second plate. “King Regis is in decline. The—odds are good that Noct’s third is a trainee right now.”

“You don’t think Prompto could be it?”

“I don’t know, and more importantly, Noctis doesn’t, either. Argentum does not contradict anything in the Cosmogony, so far as I’m aware.” Ignis scrubs at a mug’s stubborn coffee stain. “We must accelerate our search. It is the only thing we can do.”

For the disaster the day had been, the evening with Gladio is a productive one. Ignis’s private office is well-equipped, so it was a simple matter to print out the full list of male trainee names, from the newly accepted all the way to the group that just came into Gladio’s care. Over a shared bottle of wine, the two of them start eliminating candidates.

They normally wait until just before graduation simply because many candidates drop out over the two years of training, and both Gladio and Ignis are busy enough that screening those who will not make it the full two years is a waste of their time. It only takes a few moments to go through Gladio’s current group, but the rest of the list is daunting. They try anyway, scratching out the obvious no’s as they can.

It still leaves them with far too many people to investigate—if they are to do this properly, it will take weeks of full-time work. Ignis himself only just finished vetting the trainees that came under Gladio’s direct control in between his other duties, and he still has two candidates he couldn’t disqualify, who Noctis will have to give a final verdict on. Normally, they would earmark these profiles and then wait for an opening in Noct’s guard to shepherd these people into. They can’t wait for that any more.

“We’ll work our way backwards,” Gladio says, and Ignis agrees. It is the best use of their time, and the closer the candidates are to finishing their own training, the less reckless it is to have them shadow one of Noct’s guards.

It takes most of the evening and the last of the wine for Ignis to ask, “How poorly is King Regis doing?”

Gladio does not flinch, exactly, but his fingers curl a little tighter around the pen he is holding. “My dad’s been worried,” he says quietly. “Not that he gives away a lot of details, you know? He’s always been really protective of the king. But I know Dad’s had to rearrange meetings and such to give him more breaks.”

Ignis hums a quiet acknowledgment, but his heart sinks a little at the answer. He does not look forward to the day that Noctis puts on the Ring of the Lucii. For all the prophecies have to say about Noct’s potential, for all that Ignis has seen Noct’s magical strength and ability, when Noctis puts on the Ring, it will start to wear away at him, much like it is doing to Regis.

Is this where they will be in thirty years? Him and Gladio, helpless against the Ring, watching it chip away at Noctis day by day?

Ignis banishes that fear for now. There are more immediate concerns; the uncertainty of a far-off future can wait.

The morning’s schedule is too busy for Ignis and Gladio to find the same block of free time, what with Noctis filling in for the king’s most essential duties. Ignis keeps most of his attention on taking the most thorough notes he can so they can be given to Regis at the end of the day, and to ensure that Noctis stays on schedule (despite his still-simmering anger).

Security falls squarely under Gladio’s domain as Noct’s Shield, so Gladio is the one who takes care of arranging for Argentum to come in half an hour prior to his usual shift start. Despite the day’s hasty, and punishing, schedule, Ignis is able to send Noctis and Gladio off to Noctis’s quarters to grab a quick dinner while he heads for his public office. Gladio will still be on duty afterwards, but as Noct will only be visiting the infirmary, Ignis will be able to have his own dinner at home and return to their list of trainees.

Argentum is waiting quietly outside his office door, trying very hard to look stoic. It’s a better attempt than yesterday, but Ignis can concede it is unfair to judge anyone’s decorum by what happened yesterday. Ignis is certain he was barely passable. The entire Citadel was rattled.

“Apologies for calling you in early and keeping you waiting, Argentum,” Ignis says.

Argentum looks up sharp and offers a quick salute. “It’s fine. Sir. Uh, is everything okay?”

“Better than yesterday,” Ignis says, which is not the most helpful answer but feels most accurate at the moment. “Excuse me.”

He unlocks his office door once Argentum steps out of the way and lets them both inside. Ignis flips the light switch, shuts the door, and then places his portfolio on his desk. Argentum takes an anxious seat when Ignis waves him toward one of the chairs on the other side, though he does wait to sit until Ignis himself is settled.

Argentum is trying, valiantly, to keep his right knee from bouncing up and down. Ignis decides neither of them are likely up to the burdens of small talk. “Due to yesterday’s events, we are in the process of making changes to Prince Noctis’s guard.”

He hadn’t meant it to come out that dire, but Argentum’s eyes widen slightly, and his knee goes very still. “Sir?”

“The finer details of the schedule are still being adjusted, but you will be moved to the afternoon shift,” Ignis tells him. “Our intention is to increase the number of people who are eligible to serve as part of His Highness’s guard, and as such, we are adjusting schedules so our more experienced members have the shifts most easily shadowed.”

As a cover story, it isn’t terrible. It may seem like overkill as the king’s collapse was a medical event, not the result of an attempt on his life, but there is little drawback to having others think that is why they will be having advanced Crownsguard trainees shadowing Noct’s guard. That is not a story that will hurt morale.

Argentum makes an interesting series of expressions after that news before settling back on his neutral. “So—will my duties be changing? Because of the afternoon shift.”

“Yes,” Ignis says. “You’ll be expected to have more interaction with Prince Noctis, and should I not be present, you may be requested to do more administrative or assistant tasks, such as arranging for meals and the like. Your primary responsibility will still be to see to his safety, but you may be asked to handle other small items as well.”

It is interesting, watching the stillness melt out of Argentum’s body. He actually smiles. “I can do that!”

“Do you have any other questions for me?”

The smile dims and then goes out. “How—is he? The king, I mean. And His Highness?”

“King Regis is expected to make a full recovery.” For given definitions of _full._ Every year saps more and more of his strength. “Prince Noctis has taken over his essential duties for today and will be doing so tomorrow. After that, it will depend on the doctor’s assessment.”

And the king’s own temperament. It is one trait that Noctis most certainly inherited from his father.

“His Highness will be going to the infirmary this evening now that his meetings are over. He and Gladiolus are dining now, but afterwards Gladiolus will be assisting him. I’ll escort you to His Highness’s quarters, and then I’ll be taking my leave for the evening to handle other work. Anything else?”

Argentum shakes his head, so Ignis gathers up his things and stands. “Shall we?”

The return to Noct’s quarters is quiet, which suits Ignis just fine. His mind is already halfway onto the next task, a deeper dive into a trainee group, and Argentum seems thoughtful in his own way. Ignis blames his distracted thoughts for following through on the reflex to stop at the shrine. He has his portfolio on the stool and one glove off before his thoughts catch up to his actions, and Ignis is suddenly keenly aware of Argentum hovering uncertainly nearby.

Ignis’s heart thumps painfully in his chest, but he strips off the second glove. It would be more awkward to stop now than to keep going. It really shouldn’t matter if Argentum is able to deduce that he sometimes does this multiple times in a day. He will likely think Ignis prefers to take extra precautions. “Have you already purified yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, then.”

Argentum doesn’t ask, so Ignis doesn’t explain. He goes through the rite and is a little pleased that Argentum turns away slightly, to give him the illusion of privacy. Ignis clasps his hands in prayer but, as usual, does not have any words to offer to the Astrals.

He dries his hands, puts his gloves back on, and gathers his things. By the time they are inside the foyer, Ignis’s heartbeat has smoothed out. Valeria and Argentum exchange greetings in the foyer, and Ignis moves deeper into the apartment. A quick glance at the dining area reveals Gladio putting dirty dishes back onto a dining cart—good, they finished eating—so Ignis swings to the right, for the bedroom. He knocks on Noct’s door and enters when granted permission.

Noctis is putting on the last of his formal regalia, wrestling with the gold chain that keeps his cape on his shoulders. He normally doesn’t go to the infirmary in anything more formal than a suit jacket, but the regalia is meant to be a reminder to anyone in the Citadel that the line of Lucis is still present and in command despite Regis’s current health. “Hey,” Noctis says in greeting.

“Highness,” Ignis returns. He closes the door behind him and steps closer. “A moment, if you will.”

Noctis manages to get the chain to latch into place properly, and he finally looks up at Ignis. There is less—banked fury in his eyes than there was this morning, but much of it has been replaced with weariness over the course of the day. “What’s up?”

Ignis fills him in, quietly, on his conversation with Argentum and tells him that he and Gladio are working to solidify the new schedule and begin investigating trainees so the likely ones can start shadowing. It’s plain to Ignis that Noctis isn’t entirely happy with the news, but he does nod his acceptance.

“Even if your third turns out to be a brand-new trainee, identifying him will at least put us in a position to accelerate his training so he can be ready to leave Insomnia with us at the soonest possible opportunity,” Ignis concludes.

Noctis lets out a long breath, not quite a sigh. “That’s—good.”

It is not convincing. “Noctis?”

Noctis scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I’m just—” The words struggle and finally die in Noct’s throat.

Ignis waits, letting Noctis decide whether to try again or to let the topic go.

“Thanks,” is what Noctis finally settles on. “For—doing all this. You and Gladio both.”

There are a number of things Ignis could say, many of them too revealing regarding the state of his heart. What he says is, “We are only working to uphold our promise to find him.”

Noctis doesn’t quite smile, but there is something fond in his expression. “Yeah. Still. I appreciate it, is all.”

And then, to Ignis’s great surprise, Noct’s makes that familiar, careful gesture: fingers curling loosely into a fist and then straightening out. It is a question, an invitation, one that Ignis has never been able to ignore.

He should, even if he did just purify himself. Gladio is within Noct’s quarters, likely growing impatient at how long Noctis is taking to get changed. But Ignis still closes the space between them and offers Noctis his hand.

Their fingers tangle briefly, and for one dizzying moment Ignis wonders what the warmth would be like between their palms if he had his gloves off. For a moment, he is tempted by the fantasy of lifting Noct’s hand—

No. That would be wholly selfish. The only time Ignis will be permitted to kiss Noct’s hand will be at his coronation, and it will be a kiss of fealty, not devotion.

Noctis pulls away first, and Ignis lets him slip away, even though the loss of contact leaves him hollow.

“Good luck tonight, Specs.”

“And to you as well, Noct.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas. No one gets what they want in this chapter. T-T
> 
> Poor EVERYONE. What is Prompto gonna doooo?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis makes a dismissive noise. “Do what you want, Iggy.”
> 
> It’s a dangerous thing to give permission for. There are so many things that Ignis wants that he knows he cannot have. Knows that he cannot even hint at wanting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Thank you for not abandoning us after the misery of the last chapter. We hope you enjoy this humble offering. We continue to enjoy and appreciate all your comments.

Prompto lets out what feels like his tenth yawn since getting on the train heading towards the Citadel. It wasn’t that he got up any earlier for this shift, but there is something to be said about routines. He hadn’t adjusted his schedule properly to account for having to leave for work before noon. He managed to get breakfast and squeeze a run in, but he didn’t get to take a long shower or get to his second or third cup of coffee like he normally would.

There’s a lot he has to adjust to.

He doesn’t mind the new schedule. Having his evening free would be nice if he ever had any plans. Or wanted to make them. Members of the Crownsguard often go out to bars near work together after their shift, and since he was getting off work at midnight before he couldn’t join.

But he couldn’t get too excited about that—he hadn’t joined the Crownsguard to make friends. Well, okay, not multiple.

Prompto looks out the window. Seeing the city fly by while lit by the sun high above is weird. Only because he’s in his uniform does he feel out of place. There’s more people around him on the train, more energetic and paying more attention to him than the usual “it's late I just wanna be home” vibe.

His thoughts wander to Noctis. They hadn’t gotten to really talk about the last two of his shifts—the day his father collapsed, Noctis had stayed in his room, and the day before he was busy surrounded by others. Prompto feels guilty and selfish for kinda wishing he would have stayed on his night shift—he had Noctis to himself, which he knows he shouldn't even be _thinking_ , but it was nice, just the two of them kinda existing in their own bubble.

The memory of grabbing Noctis’s arm makes Prompto’s face feel warm. He looks at the station display over the door and sees his stop is next. Time to get his game face on. It's his first full shift with this new schedule, and he really has no idea what to expect. All he knows is it won’t be like before. Which could be good, or terrible.

Once again, the thoughts of being alone with Noctis creep into his mind, and Prompto fidgets to try to ignore them.

He is one of the first off the train when it stops at the station. Prompto tries to walk briskly but the crowd is larger than the evening one, which makes sense. More folks working and all. He checks his phone as he walks through the Citadel doors—he has ten minutes before his shift starts, so he makes sure to take his time at the shrine. He doesn’t plan on...on touching. Noctis. But just in case. He wants to make sure he is as good as he can be. Or something.

There’s something like a weird guilt building up in his throat as he goes through the ritual. He thinks of Gladio, who takes these matters so seriously. Of Ignis, who is loyal to a fault to the crown. Prompto wants to be like them, in so many ways. Someone who can be close to Noctis, trusted, someone whom others revere for his station. Despite what Ignis has said about his job and duties related to Noctis, Prompto is sure that there would be more allowances for Ignis, more circumstances where it could make sense that Ignis make contact with Noctis.

Prompto has seen the familiar way Noctis is with Gladio and Ignis. And Prompto wants that, too.

He uses a bit more water to ensure his hands are cleansed before drying them off.

It’s that thought echoing in his head as he finally approaches the door to Noct’s suite just a minute shy of noon. Scaevola opens the door after he knocks. Just behind Scaevola, Prompto catches the eye of another guard and for half a beat is confused before he recalls the conversation with Ignis. Prompto finds himself a little relieved he doesn’t have anyone shadowing him.

Both guards salute before stepping past Prompto and out into the hallway and heading towards the elevator.

The door shuts and Prompto stares at it a moment, unsure what to do. He knows in theory, he should stand in the foyer; Ignis had said his first priority is Noct’s safety. He listens, and he can hear Ignis and Noctis in the dining area, speaking low, and the sound of silverware on plates.

“Argentum?”

Prompto straightens up at Ignis saying his name. He doesn't move from his position. “Sir.” He braces for….something.

“You may enter.”

Prompto hesitates. His job is safety, and even though there are guards posted down the hall, he wonders if Ignis means he just needs to watch the door from further in. His nervousness is heavy—when it was just he and Noctis alone, he didn't worry about not guarding the door. But now he is facing that reality of all the times he wasn’t doing his job properly because he wasn't in the foyer, he was instead sitting on the couch, playing video games, or hanging out in the office showing Noctis more photographs of Insomnia.

“Prompto?” This time it’s Noctis who speaks and that gets Prompto moving without even a second thought. He rounds the corner and looks directly at the dining room table. He and Noctis make eye contact, and the prince gives a nod.

All the fear and anxieties Prompto had been holding inside him escape in one small breath as he smiles back.

And then quickly remembers himself when he sees the way Ignis is looking at him. He clams up, stands straight and holds a fist to his heart.

“At ease.” Ignis returns to his meal, finishing off the last bite before collecting his and Noctis’s plates and taking them to the small dining cart that the meals get brought in on. While Ignis is getting the cart ready to return to the kitchen, Prompto takes a chance and manages to catch Noctis’s attention again. He offers a small wave.

Noctis doesn’t wave back. The worry starts to return, and he realizes he has no idea where they actually stand right now. Noctis had said the touch wasn’t a big deal, had even touched Prompto, of his own will. But then something happened in his bedroom, something Prompto doesn't even entirely understand, and he wonders if that is what is still causing a rift between them.

So Prompto looks down at his feet and then leans against the wall. Noctis is on his phone, and doesn't make an attempt to get Prompto’s attention.

The sound of the door opening makes Prompto go into panic mode instantly. He whirls around the corner—

“Hey kid,” Gladio says with a genuine smile, and Prompto feels a bit better for it. “How’s the early shift treatin’ ya?”

“So far so good, sir.” He steps away as Gladio joins them in the dining area. Noctis hasn’t even lifted his head. Ignis has returned to the table and greets Gladio with a nod.

“His Highness is expected at a council meeting,” Ignis says as he grabs his portfolio from the seat of a kitchen chair, “followed by the infirmary.”

Prompto wonders how many hours Noctis spends there. But he just nods and lets Gladio lead them, Ignis and Noctis in front of Prompto as they leave the apartment. Noctis is dressed less casually than he would have expected: black slacks and a simple black button up. The time he spent shadowing Nyx was kind of an introduction to this part of the job. They stay in formation until they are at the council doors. Gladio opens the heavy doors and Ignis and Noctis step through. For a beat, Prompto is nervous he will be expected to go inside—council meetings seem a whole new level of terrifying that he is not at all ready to experience.

Gladio though gives a quick wink and then goes into the room, closing the door behind him. Prompto lets out a heavy sigh and stands just to the right, waiting.

The first ten minutes he spends trying to see if he can hear anything through the door—but every time he hears footsteps echoing on the stone floor, he jumps back, so he gives that up quickly. He could never hear much past low mumbles spoken by faceless politicians anyways. As he keeps standing guard, his thoughts go to Noctis, behind those doors, sitting there listening. He wonders if Noctis gets bored, or if he is listening carefully.

Prompto wonders if the king is in there.

The door swings open, and it almost hits Prompto in the face. He barely manages to slide away with only a small trip before standing upright against the wall as people pour out. They’re talking away, some clearly distressed, others looking tired.

Then Gladio appears, and he motions with one hand to say _this way_. Prompto waits—Ignis emerges, with Noctis standing alongside him, and they are off again. Prompto follows—he watches how people react to them walking by. As they head to the infirmary, they pass several groups of Citadel workers, of soldiers, of trainees. They all stop and salute the prince as he passes.

To pay their respects to the Chosen King.

One of the side effects of the evening shift was that Prompto didn't see much of this kind of reaction from the public.

Once in the infirmary, they don’t stop by the front desk like Prompto was used to when he was shadowing Nyx. Instead, they veer down a dimly lit hallway. Gladio opens a door with a key, Ignis and Noctis enter, and then the door shuts. Prompto tries to hide the disappointment he feels.

“He’s gotta make more curatives.” Gladio studies the door. “It’s a small way he can help out, especially while the king is recovering.”

The door opens, but only Ignis steps into the hallway. “Shall we?” he says to Gladio.

“After you,” he gestures with a bow.

“Argentum, we’ll be back when it's time to collect His Highness.”

Prompto salutes “Sir.”

The two of them walk away, their footsteps in time with each other and the sound reverberating off the floor and walls. Prompto tugs at the bottom of his coat and then sighs. He leans against the door and crosses his arms. If this is what the afternoon shift was all about, he doesn't understand Ignis’s comment about seeing Noctis more—but then he remembers that Ignis doesn’t know Prompto hasn’t been just standing in the foyer of the prince's apartment for weeks now.

His phone vibrates against his leg.

He checks the hallway both ways three times before he pulls out his phone. It's a message from Noctis, and he almost drops his phone when he sees the name flashing on the screen.

The familiar chocobo emoji.

Prompto keeps his back against the door, but he lets one hand fall to his side and raps on the door lightly.

He hears a click and stands upright as the door slowly opens. He turns and looks inside. Noctis sits back down as Prompto enters the room and shuts the door behind him. On the table in front of Noctis are boxes full of vials—the curatives Kingsglaive depend on to keep them alive in battle. What Noctis gives to the sick.

“Hey,” Noctis says nonchalantly as he grabs an empty bottle, “figured you’d be bored out there.”

Prompto’s throat is dry. Super fucking dry. “It’s uh,” he clears his throat. Noctis glances up at him, a look in his eyes like he's trying to read into his mind. Prompto moves closer, sits on the opposite side of the table.

“It's just my job, gotta be ok with it, I guess.”

Noctis’s expression sours. Prompto isn't sure what he's doing wrong here, so he tries to just keep his mouth shut for once. They sit there in silence, aside from the snapping sounds of magic as Noctis works and the soft sound of glass sliding down cardboard. It’s almost meditative.

But after some time, Prompto’s anxiousness has him fidgeting nearly from toe to head and he can’t stay quiet anymore.

“Look, Noct,” he says the name without thinking and pauses to gauge the reaction.

Noctis is focused on the vial. Prompto presses his lips shut tight when he sees the crackle of magic between Noctis’s fingers, how his eyes glow purple, otherworldly, like when he warps. It feels like there's static in the air, and then a smell like ozone as the vial glows bright with the magic Noctis has imbued into it.

Noctis sets the vial into a small box of other glowing bottles. Prompto realizes too late he is staring with wide eyes.

“Sorry, you were saying?” Noctis doesn't reach for another container.

“Dude, that was so fucking cool.”

Noctis blinks at him, and Prompto really thinks he screwed up this time, and then Noctis is laughing.

He’s laughing, loud, eyes shut tight and head thrown back.

“What!” Prompto leans forward. “What's so funny!” But he's also happy, so happy to see Noctis laughing.

“Just. No one does that.”

“Does what!”

Noctis wipes at the corners of his eyes and settles on looking at Prompto again. “Talks like that—about magic. About what I can do.”

“Oh, uh, well.” Prompto’s hands fidget under the table. “I wasn’t like, raised around this stuff. It still is crazy to me sometimes.”

“It’s cool,” Noctis says, and then they fall into that silence again. Prompto could kick himself for getting sidetracked, but also...he made Noctis laugh. So that had to count for something. It had to.

Noct falls into the same rhythm again. Before long Prompto is bouncing his right leg so much he has to grip his thigh with his hand to ground himself. He wants to make sure Noctis is alright. That _they_ are alright.

“I just...about...the other day,” Prompto struggles to find the right words because he doesn’t even entirely know what he did wrong, to say he was sorry, but he knows that’s what he needs to do. “You know you can tell me if I ever do something that upsets you, right?”

Noctis blinks, but he doesn't laugh this time. “Huh?”

“Just. You can talk to me, ya know?” Prompto sighs and drops his head in his hands. He hears Noctis making more curatives.

“I’m not...” Noctis says between crackles of magic, like this is all totally normal. Which he supposes it is to Noctis. “I’m not mad. Things with my dad...it’s...”

Prompto lifts his head back up. Noctis is staring into a vial. When he looks up, their eyes meet, and Prompto feels compelled to try to comfort him. Of course he was having a rough time, his dad had fallen ill, Noctis was worried about him, and here Prompto was worried the guy was mad at him for some weird, made-up reason.

Prompto takes a breath, and he starts to lean forward, one arm sliding across the table, as Noctis sets the vial in the box and his hands settle on the table.

Noctis’s phone, sitting to his right, vibrates and lights up. Prompto moves away so fast the chair flies back and he lands on the ground.

He hears a chair scraping across the floor. “Prompto?”

“I’m good, I’m good!” He doesn't move for a good few seconds. This is how the Astrals are telling him to keep himself in check.

Noctis’s face appears in Prompto’s sights above him. “Iggy’s on his way back, he has coffee.”

Prompto doesn’t immediately move, mostly because the longer he stays there, the more it seems like he meant to land there, right? Right. “Cool. Cool, cool.”

“You, uh, might want to be standing when he shows up.”

That makes Prompto finally scramble to get up and not look to Noctis for help because the chair was probably the gods taking it easy on him.

“I’ll just—”

He doesn't look back as he opens the door and slides out, closing it and standing to the right of it. He smoothes out his jacket and inhales for four counts. Holds it for four. Exhales for four. Pauses. He does this three more times, and his heart has barely slowed to something close to normal when Ignis appears at the end of the hallway.

Noctis is somehow going to be the end of Prompto.

“Argentum,” Ignis greets him, and it's only then he realizes Ignis has a tray of _three_ coffees. Ignis hands the iced one to Prompto like it's the most normal interaction before he opens the door and steps inside.

This time it's Prompto who blinks. He looks at the label on the cup—it's what he orders every time from the cafe in the Citadel, but it's still surprising that someone somewhere has his drink—a vanilla cream cold brew with salted honey cold foam—memorized.

He takes a long sip and relishes it. It was usually his once a week treat to kick him off into the weekend. But he would take it, now. He’s downed the whole drink when the door opens and Noctis steps out.

“Argentum, would you?” Ignis motions inside, and Prompto tosses the drink in the trash can and grabs the box Ignis gestures to. He follows them, Noctis drinking his own iced beverage that looks like it's more chocolate than coffee. Ignis has a hot drink.

“How are you feeling?” Ignis asks.

“I’m fine,” Noctis’s reply has a slight sharpness to it. “Doing this is easy.”

“You still must be careful. Ah, here, Argentum.”

Prompto follows Ignis’s instruction to set the box on the desk in front of a nurse, an older lady with a polite smile. She doesn't look at Prompto though, but past him.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she bows her head.

“Of course,” Noctis sounds almost the most royal Prompto’s ever heard. With the box delivered, they’re on the move again.

Once at Noctis's apartment, Prompto is surprised by how much time has passed. His shift will be over in just under half an hour. He feels fidgety because he wants to finish the conversation they started in the infirmary, but also he’s scared to. Prompto had been about to…

Inside, Noctis goes into the bedroom, and Ignis the dining area. Prompto stands in the foyer as far away from the door as possible while remaining in the hallway. Noctis reappears in his sweatpants and a baggy shirt and collapses onto the couch.

“Noct.” Ignis strides towards him. Prompto feels like he is almost intruding on something as he watches how Ignis approaches, looking down at Noctis with concern. “You’re pale.”

Prompto hadn’t even noticed, and even now he wouldn’t be sure if it was just the lightning in the room.

“Just tired.” Noctis replies as his eyes flash to Prompto.

The guilt bubbling in his throat makes Prompto look down at his feet.

“Argentum.”

Prompto snaps his head up. Ignis hasn't moved from beside Noctis. “You’re excused, the next guard will be here soon.”

“What?” he asks before he can stop himself and then snaps his mouth shut. He sees a small smile from Noctis, but Ignis looks at him weirdly. “I mean, sir, all due respect, uh, I would rather not risk getting in trouble for leaving my post early.”

Ignis waves a hand and walks up to him. “It’s quite alright. If anyone gives you trouble, direct them to me. Besides, you were called in early the other day.” He reaches up and claps Prompto on the shoulder. It’s slightly terrifying.

Prompto doesn’t mean to look over at Noctis again, but he fucking _does._ Noctis is watching them and something feels—electric. Prompto’s heart is racing. He doesn't understand what the hell his body is playing at.

“Sir.” Prompto nods and steps back. Salutes. “Your Highness.” He bows and turns on his heel to leave.

It isn't until he’s in the elevator that he lets out a loud breath and breaths in and out, again, a few times. His pulse is racing and holy fuck.

He doesn't understand what happened. He walks on shaky legs out onto the steps and looks at the orange sky. It would make a pretty picture. He pulls out his phone and stops because he hadn’t even felt his phone buzz.

But there it is, a text from Noctis. A few chocobo emojis and a waving hand.

Prompto smiles.

* * *

Ignis waits until Argentum closes the door behind him before he goes back to Noctis. This time, he sits beside him on the couch, still careful to keep a little distance between them. “Noct?”

It was fairly obvious that Noctis wanted Argentum gone, though Ignis isn’t sure why. It becomes a little clearer, perhaps, when Noctis sinks further on the couch, listing toward him slightly. Ignis ignores the way his heartbeat tries to pick up speed at the memory of Noctis falling asleep on his shoulder.

“I’m tired,” Noctis says again, not quite mumbling. His eyes are half closed, but he’s not yawning.

Ignis squashes the instinct to reach out and run his fingers through Noct’s hair. He doesn’t even know if that would feel nice with the gloves he’s wearing. “Did you make more curatives than normal?”

“Yeah, a bit. Got distracted.”

“By what?”

“Uh. Prompto?”

“Is that a question or an answer?”

Noctis makes a face at him, and Ignis tries and fails to ignore how endearing that expression is. “Yeah. I—invited him in for a little bit while I was working, like you suggested. I ended up doing a couple more hi-potions than I meant to.”

Ignis isn’t thrilled that Noctis spent more magical energy than he was supposed to—their scheduled evening of paperwork will be more difficult if Noctis ends up fighting against sleep the entire time—but it is a pleasant surprise that Noctis did listen to his suggestion to try to interact privately with Argentum to get to know him better. He had thought Noctis might have backed out of that idea after Ignis found Argentum still lingering outside the door in the infirmary.

“Was he a good distraction?”

“I guess.” Noctis worries his lower lip with his teeth, and Ignis wrenches his eyes away from the sight. “Wasn’t _bad._ ”

“Such high praise,” Ignis says dryly, because otherwise _lean on me, if you like_ will come out of his mouth next. “Let me call down to the kitchens for dinner. If you stay awake long enough to eat, we can put off this evening’s work until tomorrow.”

Noctis sighs, but in the end he says, “You got a deal, Specs.”

After that, Noctis does try to interact with Argentum more frequently when he is on duty in the following days. It is a little amusing, watching Argentum swing wildly from stiff formality (often with a quick, guilty glance toward Ignis or Gladio or both) to slowly relaxing under Noct’s attention. Noctis, for his part, is usually good at remembering when it is appropriate to goad Argentum into familiarity and when it isn’t. He draws Argentum into conversation with him when they’re in his quarters or a quiet conference room or the room in the infirmary where he makes curatives.

Argentum is obviously fascinated by the Crystal’s magic. He always watches Noctis intently when Noctis is imbuing bottles and vials with healing magic and is rather vocal about how impressed he is. Noctis, for his part, tries to act aloof, but Ignis knows him well enough to catch the small signs that he is pleased by the praise.

But the training grounds are where Argentum’s fascination turns into outright awe. Ignis can only dredge up the smallest amount of annoyance that Argentum spends more of his time watching Noctis than he does their surroundings. Most of it is smoothed away by the fact that Noctis is enjoying having an audience that is impressed but isn’t worshipful, or fearful. And Gladio has enough forethought to save his teasing about Noctis showing off for when Argentum is off shift.

“You’re official Crownsguard and everything, yeah?” Argentum asks one day, while Gladio is walking Noctis through some complicated broadsword forms. “With, like, weapons training.”

“I am,” Ignis says, not quite sure where the sudden question is going to lead. He is fairly certain it is going to lead somewhere, though, so he closes out his email and gives Argentum his full attention. “Daggers are my primary speciality, with polearms as my secondary.”

Argentum isn’t as comfortable with him as he is with Gladio or Noctis, and he squirms for a moment before stilling. “So, are you—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you train?”

“Likely not, as I tend to do so prior to the training rooms being open for the general Crownsguard.”

Argentum winces. “That early?”

“I enjoy it. It ensures I am awake and ready for the rest of the day.”

“How come you don’t, you know, train with N—His Highness?”

Ah, there it is. Ignis ignores the way his heart twists at the question. _I would like nothing better,_ is not something he is going to admit. “It is inefficient,” he says instead. “The purification Gladiolus undergoes prior to each session takes around two hours.”

“Seriously?”

“I’ve occasionally stepped in if Gladiolus was unwell, or if there is something that I specifically can teach His Highness, but otherwise it isn’t the best use of our time to have both of us unavailable for so long. And as His Highness’s safety is part of Gladiolus’s domain, he is the one who conducts the training sessions.”

Argentum frowns for a moment. “So you—just always watch? That’s gotta suck.”

“Does it?” Ignis asks, his tone mild. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

It’s comical, letting Argentum scramble for a response. Ignis feels only a little bad for it. “I—I just mean that—it’s gotta be boring for His Highness to have just one sparring partner all the time.”

“You don’t think Gladiolus can keep the matches interesting?”

All right, perhaps he does enjoy needling Argentum a little more than he ought, but it’s rare Ignis gets to poke at someone with such obvious reactions. Noctis and Gladio are both used to the sharp, teasing side of his tongue, and the rest of Noct’s guard is too professional to give Ignis openings like this.

Argentum sucks in a loud breath. “N-no, that’s not what I meant!”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Just—I dunno,” he mumbles. “I’d want to spar with all of my friends, if I were him.”

The sincerity in that answer takes Ignis aback for a moment. “Well,” he says, once he has gathered his thoughts, “I may be teaching His Highness some dagger work soon.”

“Really?” Argentum perks up immediately. “During my shift?”

“If things ever settle down enough,” Ignis says, “perhaps.”

Ignis returns from an afternoon at his uncle’s estate. His eldest cousin was kind enough to schedule a family get together on one of Ignis’s rare days off, so of course the least Ignis could do was attend. The Scientia family is one of the smaller ones of Insomnia’s nobility, but they still filled up the estate with warmth and good humor while they had a late lunch and simply enjoyed one another’s presence. It was nice to see them all again and to hear the happy news that come autumn, he would be pushed down to fourth in line for the title.

Technically, he probably shouldn’t even check up on Noctis; Noctis is, after all, a capable adult who can call down to the kitchens for his own meals. A fact which Noctis took great pains to text him multiple times, along with a _have fun with your family, specs_ that was most certainly an order.

Still, Ignis is keenly aware that he technically can leave the Citadel whenever he likes, and Noctis is decidedly not. When they were younger, Noctis would tend toward sulky whenever Ignis left, and Ignis cultivated a habit of returning to Noct’s side as soon as he could after an excursion. So he purifies himself, puts on gloves, and heads for Noct’s quarters, telling himself he will duck out should Noctis be entertaining himself with the new video game he bought.

Ignis knocks quietly at the door, but the guard inside doesn’t open it immediately. Ah, right, Argentum was on duty; Noctis might have pulled him away. Ignis still opens the door and steps inside.

Low voices coming from the left side, one of them certainly Noct’s. Something in Ignis relaxes, and he swaps his shoes for a pair of slippers. “Highness, I’ve returned,” he says, raising his voice a bit so he doesn’t sneak up on anyone.

“Dining room,” Noctis calls back, though the syllables are slightly muffled.

Ignis heads that way and discovers the reason why: Noctis is sitting at the head of the table in a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt, with two open pizza boxes in front of him. Well, placed between him and Argentum is probably a more accurate description. Argentum has an empty chair between him and Noctis, and if it weren’t for the uniform he is wearing and the fact that Noctis has a beer and Argentum doesn’t, it would look like two friends having an evening in rather than a prince and his on-duty bodyguard.

“Hey, Iggy,” Noctis says around a mouthful of pizza. He does swallow when Ignis raises an eyebrow at him to remind him about his manners. “You have fun?”

“Yes, it was—” Ignis starts, but he pauses when Argentum reaches for another slice of pizza.

Argentum’s hands are bare. His gloves are draped across his thigh, within easy reach, but he is flagrantly violating the uniform requirements for being in Noct’s guard.

“Ignis?”

He looks back up, and Noctis stares at him. There’s no mistaking the silent plea in Noct’s eyes, so the reprimand dies behind his teeth. He fumbles for something else to say. “I—Rhea is expecting. The baby is due this autumn.”

Argentum has put space between himself and Noctis, so the actual risk of contact is low. And Gladio should be gone for the day anyway. If Noctis wishes him to let this slide, he can let it go.

Relief and surprise sweep one after another across Noct’s face. “She is?”

“Yes, the gathering was to announce it.”

Argentum chews and swallows quickly. “Congrats?” he offers.

“Rhea’s Ignis’s oldest cousin, and heir to the Scientia title.”

“Oh, cool,” Argentum says, and then he stops and looks a little concerned. “Uh, unless you’re wanting the title?”

“I mostly certainly do not,” Ignis says dryly. He reminds himself that Argentum is still unlikely to be familiar with the intricacies of court and adds, “Were I the heir, it is unlikely I would be able to devote myself to my current position.”

“Then congrats on becoming—not an uncle? —soon.”

“First cousin, once removed,” Noctis says before Ignis can. “You have dinner yet? We’ve got lots of pizza, you can have some.”

Ignis steps closer to the table and lowers the lid of the pizza box, careful to avoid the grease stains, to read the logo there. “Celestial Slice? I’ve not heard of it.”

Argentum nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, it’s super good. It’s my favorite pizza place.”

Well, that likely explains why Noctis is eating it tonight. Ignis is a little pleased that Noctis has been getting to know Argentum better. Ignis ate only a few hours ago and isn’t quite hungry yet, but it’s clear that turning them down would put a damper on the relaxed mood they have right now. “It smells promising,” Ignis says. “And since you both are using napkins and plates, I suppose I can be persuaded.”

Noctis huffs, mock offended. “I’ll have you know I’m capable of manners when you aren’t here.”

“You surprise me constantly.”

Argentum stifles a laugh.

Ignis allows himself a small smile and heads for the kitchenette. He grabs a plate from one of the cupboards and then pulls open the silverware drawer.

“We’re not at a state dinner,” Noctis says suddenly. “Come on, you can use your hands for once. It’s just pizza.”

The deliberate casualness in Noct’s tone still makes Ignis’s stomach clench. It’s not just pizza, no matter what Noctis says. Not between them, at least. Ignis wonders if such simple persuasion was enough to get Argentum to shed his gloves.

The weight of Noct’s gaze presses along his spine. Ignis grips the handle of the silverware drawer to steady himself. “Some of us have standards,” he says, “even if we are not at state dinners.”

Noctis makes a dismissive noise. “Do what you want, Iggy.”

It’s a dangerous thing to give permission for. There are so many things that Ignis wants that he knows he cannot have. Knows that he cannot even hint at wanting.

After a long moment, Ignis shuts the silverware drawer without fetching any utensils. He turns back to the table, heart in his throat, and sets his plate at the foot of the table. He does not look at Noctis as he hooks his left thumb underneath the leather of his right glove and peels it off.

The air is warm against his skin. Before he can talk himself out of this course of action, he strips off his left glove in the same economical way. Ignis tucks the pair of gloves into one of his suit jacket pockets, and only then does he dare look up.

Noctis is watching him, eyes dark and assessing. Ignis resists the impulse to hide his bare hands behind his back, like he is a child who has been caught doing something wrong.

(Gladio should be gone for the evening. Ignis is keeping an entire table between himself and Noctis. No one knows how desperately he is in love with Noctis.)

“Huh,” says Noctis slowly, almost lazily, “I don’t think I’ve seen your bare hands since we were kids.”

Argentum startles at that. He looks between the two of them, disbelieving. “For real?”

“Surely you’re exaggerating,” Ignis says, even though Noctis isn’t, because he spots the way Argentum is hunching his shoulders, and how Argentum looks down at his own bare hands and then the gloves that are still draped across his lap. He has such an expressive face when he’s caught off guard. “No need to fret, Prompto. His Highness is simply having some fun at my expense.”

It is endearing how quickly Prompto perks up after that reassurance. Not a reassurance Ignis should have given, but he’s complicit in this little scene now. He hopes Gladio truly is gone for the day; he hopes he can trust in Noct’s carefully timed flouting of rules that he would not have engineered this if an interruption by Gladio were possible.

“Now then,” Ignis continues to get them off the topic of the taboo he and Prompto are breaking, “Which of these two pizzas do you recommend I start with?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? Actual good things? In our story? What could possibly go wrong? 
> 
> Up next: Something different.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How do I look?” Noctis asks, and Ignis and Gladio turn back to him.
> 
> The black suit Noctis is wearing is exquisitely tailored, cut in such a way it expertly emphasizes the difference between his broader shoulders and narrower waist. Noctis tugs at the gold chain that keeps the cape in place around his shoulders.
> 
> This time, Ignis manages to find something he can say aloud that won’t give his heart away: “Positively regal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy something different! :)
> 
> And big big thanks to [mysteriousbean5](https://twitter.com/CarrieVogel5) for working with us on art for this chapter!

The sudden blare from his phone violently yanks Ignis out of sleep. He rolls onto his side and grabs his lit-up phone from the nightstand. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus enough to make out the time—just past three in the morning—and another moment still to make sense of the emergency alert text beneath the numbers:

_Imperial forces attacked Tenebrae. Queen Sylva reported killed._

Fear is a lightning bolt down his spine, and Ignis drops his phone back onto the nightstand and propels himself out of bed. He stumbles for his walk-in closet and yanks the door open. He misses the light switch on his first try but manages the second. The sudden flood of light burns; Ignis squints through it.

He doesn’t bother with a shirt; he goes straight for the hoodie he only wears when he exercises in one of the open training yards during the winter. Between that and the sweatpants he slept in, the only other things he grabs from his closet are socks and a pair of gloves. Ignis snatches up his phone from his nightstand—that gets shoved into the hoodie’s front pocket along with the gloves—and then puts on his glasses.

He’s nearly to his front door by the time the knocking starts, loud and insistent. Ignis shouts, “A moment!” through the door and puts his socks and a pair of tennis shoes on in record time.

After grabbing his keys and work ID—those go into the pocket, too—he yanks open the door to a team of uniformed Crownsguard. “Lord Scientia,” one of them says. Another murmurs quietly into a radio that they’ve made contact with him.

“Which room is His Highness being taken to?” Ignis steps out of his quarters and shuts the door behind him. The Crownsguard team forms up around him and starts heading toward the nearest elevator.

“The command room on the fourteenth floor. His Majesty will be there as well.”

That is one small bit of not-terrible news. If the intelligence division of the Crownsguard believed there were any true threat to the royal family, King Regis and Noctis would not be allowed in the same tower of the Citadel, let alone in the same room.

“The Shields?”

“On their way,” another Crownsguard answers. “Estimated to be here within twenty minutes.”

That’s Noctis and Gladio taken care of. Ignis does a quick mental checklist. Gladio will do his purification on one of the fountains at ground level before he heads up. If the potential for danger is low enough that the king and prince are allowed to be in the same room, then Ignis will need to take care of himself. “There isn’t a shrine on the fourteenth floor. We need to stop on fifteen, first.”

“Yes, sir.”

The journey to the fountain on the fifteenth floor is just long enough for that initial burst of fear-fueled adrenaline to fade and for a more moderate fear and worry to take its place. He goes through the motions of purifying himself, but his mind is far from the ritual.

Early reports are often muddled, not entirely reliable. The way the alert was worded, however, indicates that there is no doubt about the Empire being behind the attack. _Reported killed,_ however, means that intelligence hasn’t confirmed that the queen is dead.

Prince Ravus was in the capital as of a few days ago, Ignis knows. But he is often in and out with different parts of the Tenebraen army; was he there when Niflheim attacked? Or was the Imperial army emboldened by his absence?

Princess Lunafreya is somewhere in the wilds of Lucis, still handling the Starscourge outbreak she reported to Noctis some weeks ago. Ignis wonders, heart sinking, how long it will take for her to find out about the attack on her homeland.

The fourteenth floor is bristling with an assortment of Crownsguard and Kingsglaive by the time they arrive. Ignis spots Iduma, which means Noctis is already inside. He presents his ID to the Crownsguard on the door and is allowed through once he pulls on his gloves.

The command room is filled with intelligence officers, more guards, and several computers and displays. King Regis is there, looking far more put-together than Ignis expects from anyone at three in the morning, though that makes sense. Intelligence would have woken the king first, apprised him of the situation, and proceeded with the alert with his blessing. Ignis gives the king a polite bow, but he keeps searching for Noctis.

There, at one of the displays, stands Noctis. He’s in his pajamas and a pair of sneakers, but the thing that truly sets him apart is the bubble of empty space surrounding him. Intelligence officers are hurrying from one display to another, talking in quiet but urgent tones, stepping away to speak on the radio or on their phones, but they’re all careful to give Noctis plenty of space.

Noctis stands, arms crossed, and watches the video on screen. Ignis has seen Fenestala Manor, the palace of the Oracles, in video clips and pictures before; it is unmistakably on fire now. Imperial dropships hang low and heavy in the sky against a backdrop of billowing black smoke and early evening sun. The chyron scrolling across the bottom declares this the footage from a news station, but Ignis doesn’t recognize the logo. If Ignis had to guess, he would say it is a Tenebraen station, simply because the text doesn’t outright declare Niflheim’s victory; the empire has a much tighter grasp on its own and Accordo’s press:

_IMPERIAL FORCES ATTACK PALACE. QUEEN SYLVA RUMORED DEAD IN BATTLE WITH GENERAL GLAUCA. PRINCE RAVUS LAST SEEN WOUNDED, NOW MISSING._

“Highness,” Ignis says as he steps into the empty space at Noct’s side. This close he can see how hard Noct’s fingers are digging into his arms.

It takes a moment for Noctis to tear his gaze away from the display. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his face is pale. “Ignis,” Noctis says, and Ignis hates how unsteady his name sounds in Noct’s voice.

He wants nothing more than to reach out and pull Noctis into his arms. To hold him, to run his hand down Noct’s back, to press a kiss to his hair and provide him what surely would be paltry comfort against the sight of their last ally’s capital burning.

Instead, he stands at Noct’s side, and they watch the display together.

About an hour after Gladio and Clarus sweep into the command room, the last of the Greater Council members and the Tenebraen ambassador arrive. Not long after that, the Crownsguard makes contact with one of the surviving members of the Lucian ambassador’s staff. The ambassador himself is dead; much of the accompanying staff is as well, or in Niflheim custody, so far as the surviving staffer knows. She is obviously shaken, but she does confirm Queen Sylva’s death at the hands of General Glauca and continued fighting in the capital. She cannot confirm Prince Ravus’s whereabouts, only that he gave chase to Glauca.

King Regis orders her to abandon the capital and head for one of the port cities and to reestablish contact once she reaches Accordo or Lucis.

They can offer her no more help than that. Though a division of the Kingsglaive are even now heading for the Lucian coast and the very small collection of ships Lucis has available, they will not be given orders to board unless the Tenebraen army appears to be holding the capital. There is little point to sending them across the sea, only to call them back days before they can make landfall.

The bulk of Tenebrae’s forces are on their border with Niflheim, guarding strategic points against a ground invasion and are already split between staying at their posts and retreating to defend the capital. They all thought the bulk of Niflheim’s drop ships were in Lucis or between Lucis and Niflheim, transporting MTs and daemons and soldiers to try to gain additional footholds on this continent.

Ignis does not know where so many airships came from or how they could so easily overwhelm the anti-dropship measures Tenebrae had in place. Speculation isn’t helpful at this point, though Ignis cannot help but be distracted by the thought that the bulk of Insomnia’s own defense is the Wall, and that is wholly dependent upon one man.

The kitchen staff delivers coffee and food sometime around what would have been dawn; the lower-level intelligence officers are the ones who step into the hallway to wheel in the carts. Ignis makes sure to get coffee into Noct’s hands, but he doesn’t force Noctis to eat. He forces himself to eat instead and does not taste any of it.

They watch the feeds of Tenebrae burning, both from official media and civilians’ social media. People fleeing the city, or trapped inside buildings, capturing horrifying videos of MTs pouring through the streets, Tenebraen soldiers fighting in cobblestoned plazas, people chased into alleyways and slaughtered.

Night falls on Fenestala Manor, and shortly thereafter, all the feeds cut out.

King Regis puts out a statement not long after, apprising the citizens of Insomnia of what happened while they were sleeping. It is a short, straightforward thing, haunting in its stark simplicity. Regis is a different sort of writer than his son; he does not commit pen to paper until he has already settled on a sentence’s wording. It is an inane observation considering the balance of power in Eos has abruptly, violently shifted, but it catches Ignis’s attention nonetheless.

The paper does a quick circuit through the Greater Council and Noctis, Regis makes a handful of edits at their suggestion, and then a Crownsguard member whisks it away for the press.

Intelligence officers continue to report anything they can get from the Tenebraen military, but they are understandably far more occupied with the chaos in the capital—and then the invading forces at the major border checkpoints, and then the largest port cities. An endless wave of MTs and daemons slam headlong into the human forces and tear bloody holes through them.

(Where did they all come from? And more importantly, is this truly the bulk of Niflheim’s forces, or are there more already headed across the ocean?)

It is breathtaking, horrifying, watching a country fall in real time. King Regis waits much longer than Ignis himself held onto hope to give Drautos the order to cancel the Kingsglaive’s journey for the coast and to return to their original positions. Drautos sounds defeated over the crackling radio signal, but he accepts Regis’s command nonetheless.

And with that, Tenebrae is lost.

A televised address to the rest of Lucis can’t be made from the command center, so two different conference rooms near the throne room are temporarily converted into dressing rooms for the king and Noctis. Ignis leaves Noctis in Gladio’s hands and hurries back to Noct’s quarters to fetch his royal regalia, a towel, and a toiletries bag. He nearly forgets the makeup bag and has to double back for it. At least his hands aren’t shaking, though he can’t seem to do much about his elevated heartbeat.

Gladio has Noctis in a chair, leaning forward and over a small trash can when Ignis comes back into the room. Gladio is carefully pouring out a water bottle over Noct’s head while Noctis runs his hands through his hair and tries to tame his bedhead.

Ignis dumps the two bags on a table, carefully drapes the regalia over a chair, and approaches the other two with the towel. “When you’re ready.”

“Noct?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he says, but he holds still until Gladio stops pouring the water. “Towel, please.”

Ignis drops it into Noct’s outstretched hand, and Noctis wastes no time drying his hair. By the time he’s done, Ignis has a brush, hair gel, and a small cosmetic mirror out. Noctis grabs the brush from the table and Ignis picks up the mirror and positions himself in front of Noctis while he does his hair.

Gladio grabs the towel and drapes it over a conference room chair for the housekeeping staff to deal with later. “All you’ve got to do is project confidence,” he tells Noctis. “Stand up straight, shoulders back. Let your dad and the throne take care of the rest”

“I know,” Noctis says, and to his credit, it comes out less snappish than Ignis is braced for. But the exhaustion is plain in his voice, and he cannot hide the twin notes of anger and fear. “Do you—”

He thinks better of the question. The silence afterward makes Ignis’s heart ache. There are so many ways that question could have gone, and Ignis would still have very little reassurance to offer.

Noctis finishes his hair and turns away to rummage through the makeup bag. He took over his own makeup for television appearances several years ago, after the last makeup artist he had as a teenager trembled so much in his presence that she could barely apply his foundation. Noct’s appearances are infrequent enough that he had enough time to practice and learn how to take care of his appearance between events.

It only takes a few seconds for Noctis to scrub down his face with a wet wipe and then slather on moisturizer. Simple black eyeliner comes next, then a generous amount of concealer to take care of the bags under his eyes and even out his complexion. Noctis takes his time with the foundation and the bronzer, and once that is sorted out, he doesn’t look as if he’s been awake since three in the morning. A quick pass to settle his eyebrows, a sweep of mascara, and the faintest bit of color on his lips, and then Noctis tilts his head up for their inspection.

“Looking good,” Gladio says easily, and Ignis just nods his agreement, his own compliments tangled up with shame in his throat. Now is not the time to be distracted by Noct’s beauty.

Ignis and Gladio turn their back on Noctis to give him privacy while he changes into his formal clothing. Ignis takes the opportunity to discreetly check his phone and finish clearing the rest of Noct’s appointments today and tomorrow and the day after. It is highly unlikely that they will be at the point that Noctis can worry about anything not directly tied to the war; and even if they are, Ignis would rather give Noctis some time to regroup.

“How do I look?” Noctis asks, and Ignis and Gladio turn back to him.

The black suit Noctis is wearing is exquisitely tailored, cut in such a way it expertly emphasizes the difference between his broader shoulders and narrower waist. Noctis tugs at the gold chain that keeps the cape in place around his shoulders.

This time, Ignis manages to find something he can say aloud that won’t give his heart away: “Positively regal.”

“Strong,” is what Gladio says, and Noctis does not have to ask who that is in comparison to.

Noctis scowls briefly, then rolls back his shoulders and lifts his chin a little as he straightens up. The change in posture practically electrifies the air around him. It isn’t often that Noctis has to don this kind of royal mask, but it is precisely the tool he needs today. “Let’s go.”

By the time they reach the throne room, a replica of the throne has been moved out of storage and down to the first landing, beneath the real throne. It is always a little odd to see it there, but it is far more practical to set that up than to put multiple cameras on cranes in order to get the footage they need from the height of the real throne. It also allows for a less cramped setup.

Noctis climbs up to the landing and moves as the media crew tells him to so they can get the lighting, cameras, and teleprompter set up properly. The back of the throne comes just to Noct’s shoulder; with Regis sitting in it, Noctis will tower over him, the picture of youth and strength and health. Another crew member hangs up the Lucian royal coat of arms behind the replica throne and then goes the long way around to avoid coming close to Noctis. Ignis and Gladio stay below, with the rest of the crew.

Regis appears sometime later, and his makeup artist has managed to shave a few years off his appearance. If Ignis still didn’t have the image of the king collapsing in the Crystal’s chamber burned into the darkness above his bed, along with the rest of his worries and fears, he could let himself be persuaded that Regis is as strong as he was two, three years ago.

The king settles into the fake throne, and Noctis steps in close beside him. From the edge of the throne room, Ignis can’t hear what the two of them say to each other, and Noctis is keenly aware of their audience, so there is nothing in his expression to give him away. Ignis hopes that Noctis is taking the brief moment to try repairing the rift between him and his father; perhaps he should ask if Noctis would like to schedule a meal with Regis, once there is an opportunity for a leisurely meeting.

The crew leader raises her voice to say, “We’re not live, but we don’t have time for reshoots today. Everyone, final checks on equipment. Your Majesty, if you stumble over any wording, simply jump back to the start of the sentence and resume there. The rest we’ll take care of in editing.”

Regis says something low, and the crew scrambles to finish the last touches with the lighting and point out where the cameras and teleprompters are before they clear off the landing and the filming begins.

One of the many things that Ignis admires about Regis as an orator is the king’s ability to be honest while refusing to sensationalize opportunities for fear. He is unflinching as he tells Insomnia about the fall of Tenebrae and the death of Queen Sylva; he reiterates that the Wall is strong and that the Kingsglaive in the outer territories are on alert for Niflheim forces. He promises vengeance—

Noctis goes rigid at his father’s side.

—and says that he is opening Kingsglaive recruitment for native-born Insomnians.

Ignis’s stomach plummets. Widening recruitment efforts had not been part of the last draft of the speech. This is an entirely new ending Regis slipped in after he and Noctis went to separate rooms to get ready for their television appearance.

It is with a bitter sort of pride that Ignis watches Noctis hold his place until the end of the speech and surprised chatter starts up among the crew. But the fury and hurt and fear are obvious in anyone who knows Noctis well, and Ignis finds himself shouldering his way through the crowd. Gladio follows behind him.

Noctis turns toward his father, but he keeps his mouth shut while Regis carefully takes off his microphone. Ignis can’t hear the first words out of Regis’s mouth, but by the time he gets to the landing, he is close enough to hear Noct’s reply:

“—can’t handle more,” Noctis hisses, but at least he isn’t shouting. “It’s going to _kill_ you.”

“Not immediately,” is all Regis says, and Noct’s hands curl into fists.

“Your Majesty,” Ignis says quickly. He sweeps into a low bow and ignores how ridiculous it feels to be doing it in his current clothing. Gladio steps up and bows beside him, but he at least is in jeans and a shirt. What matters in this moment is making sure that Noctis doesn’t re-pick an old fight with his father in front of a media crew.

It was one thing to be angry in front of the Citadel doctor and the Shields; it is another where civilians with multiple cameras are present. Even though this particular media crew has always been good about being in lockstep with the royal family, the sudden change in the war has upended enough already to risk leaving anything to chance.

“Lord Scientia, Shield Amicitia,” Regis says. His voice is carefully neutral.

Noct’s burning stare is less so, but Ignis keeps his focus on the king when he straightens up. “It has been a long, difficult morning. Now that you have addressed the people, I believe this would be an opportune time to regroup.”

It is a transparent move, but the media crew is still buzzing down below, and Clarus is climbing up to the landing as well. Regis inclines his head slightly. “A wise suggestion.”

“Dad—”

Regis makes a cut-off gesture with his hand, and adds in a quieter tone, “It is as much for my sake as yours.”

Noctis looks stricken for a moment, but he pulls himself quickly back into something less revealing. “Your Majesty,” he says again. His bow isn’t mocking this time, but fury and fear still drive Noctis out of the throne room.

The only advantage to Noctis being shorter is that he can’t quite outpace either Gladio or Ignis at a walking gait, and Ignis is rather grateful for it at this moment. Prompto is waiting in the hallway outside instead of Scaevola and his trainee—have they really been dealing with this crisis for nine hours? —doing his best not to look concerned. He salutes when Noctis approaches and falls into place behind them without a word.

Noctis keeps his temper firmly leashed all the way back up to his suite. It is only after the door is closed and he’s gotten his shoes off that he rounds on Ignis. “Do not manage me like that again.”

It’s not a gentle rebuke. Ignis bows his head and tries to ignore the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Apologies, Highness.”

“Are you? Actually sorry, that is.”

“Noct—” Gladio starts, but Ignis ignores the interruption and looks straight at Noctis.

“I am,” Ignis says quietly. “I should have had more faith in you.”

He also should have phrased that better, because Noctis bristles at the confirmation that Ignis _had_ had little faith in his ability not to cause a scene in public. Ignis wants to bury his face in his hands, or blame his lack of sleep and beg forgiveness.

To Ignis’s surprise, Gladio grips his shoulder and gives it a tight squeeze. “No one’s at their best right now,” he says to Noctis. His voice is pitched low, somewhere between reassuring and a warning. “You need to take a break.”

“And you guys don’t?”

Gladio huffs at him. “We’re not the ones who stay up past midnight playing video games. You probably only got, what, three hours of sleep?”

Some of the fight goes out of Noctis, but anger lingers in the tension of his hands and shoulders. “It’s not like you got much more.”

“Highness,” Ignis says, trying not to sound as desperate as he is to smooth things over, “there’s nothing else you must do right now. Rest while you can; the situation in Tenebrae is unlikely to change much until their morning.”

“What if it does?”

“Then we’ll wake you up,” Gladio says. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon.”

It’s true. Gladio will be living in the Citadel for the foreseeable future, as is his father, so he can be close to his charge.

“Gladio and I will go through the personnel records for when Lady Lunafreya visited and see what other currently active Kingsglaive served in her honor guard,” Ignis says as an idea rapidly takes shape in his mind. Now that the decision has been made not to send the Kingsglaive to Tenebrae— “If any of them are near the region she was last reported in, we’ll ask Captain Drautos to send them in search of her.”

They still have no word from Lady Lunafreya—queen, now, Ignis realizes with a sick sort of jolt—though not from lack of trying. Cell reception was spotty in the less populated regions of Lucis even before Niflheim started building bases; the notebook has been the most reliable form of communication and isn’t traceable besides.

“I believe Ulric was in the same region,” Ignis continues as Noctis visibly wavers. “If we send people that she recognizes and trusts to look for her, we may be able to convince her to come to Insomnia for her own protection. She must know that Niflheim will be looking for her next.”

Whether or not she will come in with any Kingsglaive teams is another issue; with her brother last reported injured and now missing, it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that she may try to find him instead. Perhaps they can get permission from Drautos for the first Kingsglaive team who finds her to stay with her.

“I’ll make sure His Highness gets some rest,” Prompto says and then quickly tacks on, “sirs.”

Ignis barely keeps from startling thanks to Gladio’s hand on his shoulder. He’d forgotten entirely that Prompto was present. It is as sure a sign as any that Ignis is far from his best right now. Humiliation burns beneath his skin when he realizes that Prompto heard Noctis reprimand him.

Noctis looks past him and Gladio and to Prompto for a long moment, before turning his gaze back on them. “If there’s any news at all about Luna, or the Empire—”

“We’ll tell you,” Gladio promises. “The moment we’ve got any news, you’ll know.”

Noctis drags a hand through his hair. “All right,” he says, and it almost sounds like surrender. “I’ll take a break.”

* * *

The sound of the door closing is louder than Prompto remembers. Or perhaps it seems that way because this whole day has so far been nothing but intense moment after moment. Seeing the state of everyone when he had shown up to the Citadel brought a whole new meaning to his role to light. So far, the hardest thing he’d been exposed to was Noctis in the infirmary. But _this_ , to see what it’s like when there is a very real and terrifying crisis happening and how it impacts the king, how it impacts Noctis.

Despite all the pomp and circumstance with the royal attire and makeup and styled hair, Prompto can see the weariness on everyone’s faces. And he saw the anger in the tightness of Noctis’s jaw. Ignis and Gladio were hardly able to calm him, and it seems an impossible task given the circumstances. Lady Lunafreya is special to Noctis. To a lot of people.

Prompto can relate. But he knows he can’t express his own worry. It’s meaningless compared to the weight Noctis bears.

But he meant it when he said he would make sure Noctis got rest. He almost wishes he could take a nap as well. Do a hard reset on the day. Not that it would do any good because when they woke up they would still have to face the real world.

Noctis had turned his back the moment the door shut. Prompto collects himself with a few breaths, ready to do whatever he needs to get Noctis to calm down. He steps out from the hallway after collecting himself, ready to pull Noctis from the dining room or the office and into the bedroom.

Instead though, Noctis is sprawled out on the couch, only remnants of his morning in the fact he is wearing slacks and a dress shirt. He's still wearing makeup, too, his eyes standing out a little more than usual thanks to it. The red in his cheeks Prompto knows is from anger though. If it were under different circumstances, Prompto would have been able to appreciate how regal Noctis looks. Like the royalty he is.

Noctis looks away from the tv screen to glance at Prompto when he comes into view. Prompto wonders if Noctis doesn’t want him around. Carefully, like whenever he tries to help a stray, Prompto picks up the folded blanket on the edge of the couch. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, and when he thinks he’s close enough Prompto drapes the blanket over Noctis’s legs and stomach.

That earns him a real look.

Prompto clears his throat and tries to settle his expression to be serious. “You can rest for now, but you’ll want to get out of those clothes eventually, right? And wash your face.”

Noctis pulls at the blanket a little and shifts down the couch so his head is resting against the back of it.

“You’ve been up almost all night, right?”

He watches Noctis sigh. Prompto takes that as all the answer he will get and steps back. He’ll hang out in the foyer to give Noctis privacy, check on him in a couple of hours to see if he can be convinced to move.

Maybe Prompto can order some food, too, see if that helps.

“You can watch with me,” Noctis says softly.

Prompto is only at the edge of the couch, so he stops there and doesn't make a move any closer or further away. He wants to give Noctis space, but also, he wants to help if Noctis doesn't want to be alone.

Honestly, all Prompto really wants to do is give him a hug. It is definitely a situation that warrants such a thing, and the fact that Noctis can't even get that from—what, anyone? —within immediate reach pains Prompto. He is reminded of what Noctis’s life is really like. How much Prompto takes for granted.

“What, you just gonna stand there?”

Prompto jumps at the question. Noctis is still just watching the tv.

“That’s my job,” Prompto tries to say with a smile. But he realizes instantly that wasn’t the right thing to say. Noctis’s lips tighten into a straight line and he pulls the blanket up a little more.

Prompto wishes he could do something more to help.

He debates for another few seconds before he sits on the edge of the couch. He feels Noctis watching as he unlaces his boots. Prompto goes slow to give Noctis time to take back the silent request, to say he was kidding, or that this isn’t what he meant, and tell Prompto to go to the foyer after all.

Boots off and set next to the couch, Prompto keeps his eyes low as he takes the gloves off. It's not like this is the first time he’s had them off—Ignis even saw it when they were having pizza. And even now it's just going to be for a moment, but there's guilt eating away in the back of Prompto’s head. He doesn't rush though. He doesn't want Noctis to think he doesn't want to hang out, doesn't want to be there.

Gloves off, he gets to undoing the buttons of his outer jacket. He slides it off his shoulders and folds it carefully on the end. Then he puts his gloves back on. He has no reason to keep them off. So he’s still got the long-sleeved turtleneck on and his pants. And socks. That has to be okay, right?

Sure.

Prompto finally lifts his chin to see Noctis is still watching him, and Prompto almost cowers.

Then Noctis smiles. Prompto forgets all his worry. He doesn't think twice before he scoots closer—barely half an arm’s length away—and the movie continues. It’s a live action movie based on one of the games he knows Noctis is super into.

“I never got to see this in theaters.” Prompto tries to find some way to keep talking about anything other than the fact they are sitting so close. “Probably was badass.”

“I didn't either.”

Prompto winces. “Fuck. Sorry.” His face heats up because of course Noctis hasn't seen _any_ movie in theaters. He wonders if the Citadel has a small theater somewhere in it like some celebrities have in their houses. Or maybe going to the movies isn’t really on the list of what the Royal Family needs. Which would be some bullshit.

He comes spiraling out of his thoughts when he feels the press of a shoulder against his own.

This is different from the time he grabbed Noctis—that wasn't intentional. Or maybe more like, not something Prompto thought about before doing it. That was in the moment of an argument. It was Prompto trying to reach out and fix something.

This—this is Noctis, the Chosen King, getting closer to Prompto.

Leaning on him.

Noctis yawns. Prompto stops breathing. Noctis actively burrows against him.

Prompto weighs his options. Noctis needs rest. He doesn't want to disturb him. Prompto sits up a little and soon he can feel hair brushing under his ear, just where the shirt stops protecting.

Can his hair touch Prompto while it’s still on his head? He really needs a legit rulebook on all this.

Noctis’s breathing starts to even out as the movie continues. His grip on the remote control in his lap has relaxed. Prompto feels himself getting heavy with sleep, until his cheek is resting against the top of Noctis’s hair. He can smell the product used in it that morning.

All thoughts about if he could, should, be doing this slowly leave him with every exhale.

Noctis’s empty hand moves a little—the only sign Prompto has that Noctis isn't fully asleep yet—until the back of his hand rests against the back of Prompto’s.

This time, Prompto doesn't flinch. This time, he splays his fingers out, just a little.

Noctis mimics the gesture, until their fingers are intertwined, and their hands shift so their palms are pressed together. Noctis lets out another soft breath. Prompto smiles and closes his eyes.

All that matters is that Noctis rests.

In a sleepy haze, Prompto thinks he hears a door open and close. His immediate thought is that it’s Noctis in the bedroom, or the bathroom. Prompto hadn’t intended to fall asleep alongside him. It was probably not very comfortable, so Noctis had gotten up at some point, Prompto is sure.

Opening his eyes allows him to see the ceiling of Noctis's place—not only had Prompto fallen asleep, but to the point he had stretched out on the couch. That’s embarrassing.

He yawns and tries to stretch his arms so he can get up, but then Prompto realizes he’s pinned under something.

Someone is _on top of him_.

Prompto tilts his chin towards his chest despite knowing and fearing what he is going to see. There is the top of Noctis’s head, no mistaking it. Somehow Prompto had ended up on his back, legs still dangling off the couch. And Noctis followed Prompto, resting his head on his chest and wrapping his arms around Prompto

“Noct,” he whispers. He shakes his arms and shoulders to try to stir Noctis. He hears—and feels it rumbling against his chest, which he totally should not be thinking about—Noctis let out a groan. Prompto rests his head back in frustration. He’ll have to use physical force to get Noctis to wake up and move off him. He’s grateful that he kept his gloves on. Maybe this way he won’t be smited immediately.

Maybe because Noctis wanted it, somehow that's ok?

He doesn’t think that’s the case because no one told him about that rule, but maybe there is a secret rule and they just don’t tell everyone about it. Ignis certainly...

Prompto gasps when he remembers the door.

He’s trapped, he’s touching Noctis, and someone is in the apartment. Prompto doesn’t even know what time it is, but it’s most likely the next guard, and Prompto is gonna have to bribe Valeria because holy shit—

He turns his head towards the hallway, ready with excuses and apologies.

It’s all lost in his throat when he makes eye contact with a red-faced Ignis Scientia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [smiling devil face emoji]
> 
> Shout out again to [mysteriousbean5](https://twitter.com/CarrieVogel5) for the art! DID YOU SEE PROMPTO'S FACE poor thing. ;]]]


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> Prompto is going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hello there, let’s see how our friend Prompto is doing…
> 
> Art for this chapter provided by [Keio](https://twitter.com/kannibal)! Thanks, dear, for traversing the fandom verse with us. <3

It takes half a second for Prompto’s mind to catch up with the panic searing through his entire body. Ignis’s jaw is set and his eyes are wide with what Prompto can only assume is murderous rage and honestly, Prompto can’t blame him.

Prompto knows the rules. He fucking knows them. And yet.

He tries to sit up, but Noctis is a heavy weight on him as he is still asleep. “Sir, I’m—”

“Hmm?” Noctis nuzzles against his chest.

Prompto is going to die.

“Argentum.”

Hearing Ignis say his last name makes Prompto’s panic enter new cataclysmic levels. He’s pissed, of course he is, and Prompto is still on the couch. He squirms as hard as he can to try to get out of Noctis’s vice-like grip.

“Ignis—Sir,” the slip makes him wince and Ignis’s eyes narrow sharply. “Sir, I can explain—Noctis, _Highness_.”

“Specs?” Noctis lifts his head finally and is confused enough for a second Prompto can use the chance to squirm down the couch so his upper body is more free.

“Not now, Noctis.” Ignis’s tone is terrifying. He’s not shouting, not even raising his voice a little.

But everything Prompto had seen earlier that day in Noctis’s expression when he was angry, is mirrored in Ignis as he steps forward.

“It’s not what you think, sir.” Prompto pushes at Noctis’s shoulders and only then realizes _he is touching Noctis again._ He pulls his hands back as if burned. “Shit, I’m—Ignis—sir— _Highness,_ please.”

Prompto manages to sit up on his elbows just as Ignis gets to the couch, face now fully flushed. Noctis is still clinging to Prompto as he tries to get away without touching Noct further.

“It’s not what I think?” Ignis looks to the side, then back to Prompto. “Then why is your coat off, folded on the side, as well as your boots?”

“I didn’t—”

“I told him to,” Noctis interrupts. When Ignis turns his attention to Noctis, Noctis loosens his hold on Prompto.

Prompto takes the opening to slide away and sit up. “Noct!”

Noctis shouldn’t try to cover for him. He didn't really make him do anything. He only made silent pleas that Prompto interpreted in a way that maybe was silently what _he_ wanted most.

Ignis doesn't stop staring at Noctis. “Leave us, Argentum.”

“Stay where you are, Prompto.”

Prompto is frozen there on the edge of the couch, hands on his knees as he stares at the carpet. Ignis is close on his right—he could throw a punch to Prompto’s face if he wanted to. And Prompto would take it. Because no matter his feelings or whatever, he broke the biggest rule of them all.

“Highness,” and then Prompto knows by the tone they are both so, so fucked, “this wasn’t necessary.”

There’s a long pause. Prompto takes the risk to look to Noctis, who is now sitting up fully. The side of his hair that had been resting on Prompto is sticking straight up from the product put in it that morning.

But Noctis’s eyes are intense, full of that raw emotion and anger from before, as he focuses on Ignis.

Noctis breaks the stare with Ignis to look at Prompto. His expression softens, but there is still intensity in his eyes. “Prompto…”

Prompto takes a breath and holds it. He’s expecting the worst. He doesn't want to be dramatic, but he thinks that being fired here, now, by Noctis, might be worse than death.

“Just...go back to your post.” Noctis looks back up to Ignis.

“Yes, Highness,” Prompto reaches for his shoes. It’s better than being told to leave but Prompto wonders what happens next. Will Noctis and Ignis discuss how to get rid of him? Where to send him? Would he be sent off to another job or just have the rank of Crownsguard ripped away from him?

The silence in the room is thick and terrifying as Ignis and Noctis stay still while Prompto pulls on his boots. His hands are shaking as he does up the stupid laces and he curses more than a few times under his breath. But neither of them say a word. Somehow that makes his nerves worse.

It feels like it takes years for him to get his boots done up. When that’s finally done, Prompto grabs his overcoat and stands. He goes to put his coat on and realizes with a shock like ice cold water he has to take his gloves off to do so.

Which also reminds him he had to take his gloves off to take the coat off and—

He opts to carry the coat with him to the foyer. He walks all the way to the door but resists the urge to lean against it and slide to the ground. Or to knock his head against it. He’s especially glad he didn't do either of those as he sees Ignis cross the room towards the office. Noctis appears next, and he doesn't even give Prompto a quick glance.

He hears the creak of the double doors as they close.

Prompto counts to sixty. Then to sixty again. Then once more just in case.

Then and only then does he drop his coat to the ground. He pulls off his gloves with tears threatening to spill over, but he clenches his teeth because no, he will not cry. He’s in the wrong, and anything that happens because of this he deserves.

He tosses the gloves to the ground as a way to let out some of his frustration. He picks up his coat and puts it on, buttons it. As he does, he sees smudges of make-up from his chest to his shoulder. He scratches at it in a lame attempt to remove it, but it doesn’t work.

A rogue tear escapes down his cheek.

“Fucking hell, idiot,” he whispers as he wipes at his face with his bare hand. “Get it together.”

He finishes buttoning up the coat and gets the gloves back on. He takes in a big breath and lets it out slowly. He tilts his chin up and squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't even know what time it is, but he hopes the next guard will be there soon.

But then he also doesn’t.

If Prompto leaves without seeing Noctis again…without knowing what will happen next...

What if this is the last time?

Prompto leans against the door and the next breath out is shaky. Another tear defies him.

His own selfishness may have just cost him the one thing he has been working towards for years.

What would he do now? He has only ever trained for this. There's nothing else he wants to do in his life. His skills are all for the crown. For the king.

For Noctis.

He hears muffled voices from the office. Not shouting, but close to it.

His thoughts are spinning because he wants to leave, but he wants to see Noctis. He wants to know his fate. Will he get a call to tell him not to come in? Will Noctis change his number so they can't text anymore? Will he still read Prompto’s blog?

Prompto has disappointed so many people, he knows. Ignis...

He lets out a pained whine and claps a hand over his mouth.

He thinks about Gladio, about how much care Gladio puts into the purification. How even Gladio, the one who trains Noctis, does all he can not to touch him.

When Gladio finds out what happened, how quickly Gladio will hunt him down? Maybe the punishment would come from him, as Shield to Noctis. Prompto is only lucky it wasn't Gladio who found them because whatever restraint Ignis had shown, Gladio probably would have shown none.

And then there’s Lady Lunafreya.

Prompto doesn't even know how to start telling her. And then he remembers—the fall of Tenebrae. Lady Lunafreya, now the queen of a ruined kingdom. Her brother is injured, her home lost.

She has no time to care for someone like Prompto. To listen to him whine about how he disobeyed the rules and lost his job. To worry about him after he failed to do the thing she asked him to.

It would be better if he just. Disappeared. From everyone here. They wouldn't have to worry about him. And he could forget this time of his life. He would move maybe, to somewhere far away and just live a simple life. Start over.

He was foolish to ever think he could live among people such as Noctis.

There’s a knock at the door. Prompto wipes his eyes and stands at attention as the door opens. Valeria enters, yet another trainee at her side, and they salute each other.

He knows he should give an update on where Noctis is, maybe give a heads up that he and Ignis are probably arguing in the office. But instead Prompto just walks out.

He doesn't want to say anything for fear he will break, crumble to pieces, in front of another Crownsguard, and especially not in front of a trainee. But his heart aches now that he has to leave before he knows what will happen next, and without seeing Noctis.

The door closes behind him. The guards near the elevator are quietly talking to each other. Prompto turns and looks at the door. If he were alone, he would reach out and touch the wood—maybe even take off his glove to do so. Just to remember it better, have tactile memory.

It’s dramatic as fuck and he knows it, but the ache traveling from his chest to his hands is so fucking much.

But he isn't alone. So instead Prompto has to walk away from the door. Walk down the hallway he’s become so familiar with. Step into the elevator. Watch as the doors close and he’s taken away from Noctis, further and further away.

Prompto says farewell a million different ways in his mind until he reaches the lobby of the Citadel. He holds his head high as he walks through the doors. Down the steps.

He doesn’t head for the train station. He goes the opposite direction, towards the gardens near the Citadel that are open to the public. As he walks, he takes off his gloves and jacket. Gloves are shoved into the pockets of the jacket and he drapes it over his arm. He hugs it to his chest like he used to do with stuffed animals when he was a kid.

In the gardens, Prompto finds an empty bench and sits. He leans forward on his elbows and focuses on the ground.

His tears darken the cement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We promise you’ll get to see Ignis’s POV on this next week, we just like dramatic chapter endings. (We’ve been waiting to post these chapters for three months, of course we’re going to make you suffer.)
> 
> Shout out again to [Keio](https://twitter.com/kannibal) for capturing this emotional moment for poor Prompto.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But where can Ignis even start? Every question that comes to his mind right now originates in a place of wild jealousy. There can be no productive conversation if he lets his feelings get the better of him, he knows that. And he is self-aware enough to know that his composure is at its limit against his emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM VERY SORRY FOR LAST WEEK ok maybe not really...only a little...but seriously thanks everyone for all your comments even if it was just screaming, I really appreciated it and I’m glad that the tension was so real. <3 alex
> 
> We’ve got another wonderful art piece for you this week. This time, the art was provided by [neutruel](https://twitter.com/neutruel)! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Ignis closes the office doors once Noctis storms inside the room. He’s—his mind is simultaneously blank and reeling, and he doesn’t even know where to begin. While he knew that Noctis and Prompto grew friendlier since Prompto’s transfer to the afternoon shift, he never imagined it would be as close as this.

Perhaps he should have. The number of people Ignis would consider Noctis close enough to—to potentially fall asleep on can be counted on less than one hand. And apparently Prompto is one of them.

Ignis turns away from the door. Noctis hasn’t moved to any of the available seats; he is still standing, arms crossed, eyes stormy, resentment screaming from every line of his body. Ignis remains at the doors, a respectful distance away.

He takes one quiet breath in an attempt to keep a firm grasp of his feelings, then says, “Gladio and I found two Kingsglaive in the field—”

“What the hell, Ignis?” Noctis snarls.

Ignis draws himself up, doubly grateful that he had the chance to shower and put on actual clothes while they waited for a response from Drautos. “I was under the impression that Lady Lunafreya’s safety was of paramount importance to you.”

He’s disappointed in himself for how cold, how sharp, the statement is. And even more disappointed that he can finally name the ugly feeling snaking its way through his chest.

He’s jealous. And what’s worse, he’s jealous over blasphemy, something over which he can never stake any claim.

Noctis flinches, and Ignis loathes himself a little more. “She is.”

“We found two Kingsglaive that are currently in the field who previously served on Lady Lunafreya’s honor guard,” Ignis continues as smoothly as he can. This news is why he came back to Noct’s suite in the first place and found— “Nyx Ulric and Libertus Ostium. Captain Drautos has assigned Ulric, along with Luche Lazarus and Crowe Altius, to form the first search team. Ostium, along with Axis Arra and Tredd Furia, are the second. Drautos has given permission for the first team that finds Lady Lunafreya to escort her wherever it is she desires.”

“That’s—good,” Noctis says. “They’ll tell Luna she’s welcome in Insomnia?”

“Of course.”

Noct’s jaw works for a moment, but whatever it is he means to say stays locked behind his teeth.

Ignis is at a similar loss for words as silence stretches between them. All his hope, his relief, at being able to deliver Noctis this good news has been swept away.

It was obvious by Noct’s actions in the living room that the—physical intimacy with Prompto was something he wanted. Noctis asks (Ignis) for contact fairly regularly as well, so the likelihood Noctis was coerced into any of this is astronomically low. A very small part of Ignis is uneasy about Noct’s claim that he told Prompto to take off parts of his uniform, but Prompto’s objection to that makes Ignis think that Noctis was trying to shift blame. Ignis himself had cautioned Noctis about goading Prompto into too much familiarity before.

But where can Ignis even start? Every question that comes to his mind right now originates in a place of wild jealousy. There can be no productive conversation if he lets his feelings get the better of him, he knows that. And he is self-aware enough to know that his composure is at its limit against his emotions.

Noctis breaks the silence first. “Are you going to fire him?”

The question cuts deep, and Ignis stiffens. “I aspire to be many things, but a hypocrite is not one of them.”

It is a reckless thing to say after the rebuke Noctis gave him just a few hours ago, but Ignis does not take it back. He does feel a little sick when Noctis bristles, though.

“Then what was that out there?” Noctis asks, voice rising.

Jealousy. “A healthy dose of fear,” Ignis says tightly. “Noctis, that was beyond reckless. Out in the living room like that, when you knew that Gladio and I could be back at any moment? Dead asleep so close to a change in guard?”

Ignis is haunted by every one of his own close calls, and he at least has the sense not to fall asleep _with_ Noctis. Every stolen moment he offers comfort to Noctis is always balanced out with an undercurrent of terror, of the keen awareness of what it would cost him if he were caught. Of what it might mean to the Crystal, if his touch is what ultimately makes Noctis impure.

He’s angry, Ignis realizes. Not at Noctis—at Prompto. Angry that Prompto was so—at ease, so carefree, that he could forget to be afraid long enough to let Noctis fall asleep on him. That he could accept the gift of Noct’s trust and be so cavalier with it out in the open.

Ignis swallows down that anger before he can choke on it. “Gladio nearly returned with me,” he says. “He would have, had his father not summoned him to review changes to Citadel security.”

“But it didn’t happen,” Noctis shoots back.

Ignis’s composure cracks a little. “If you think for one moment Gladio would hesitate to report Prompto, or me for that matter—”

“He wouldn’t—”

“Are you willing to stake my presence in your life on that, Highness?”

That question stops Noctis in his tracks, and he looks away sullenly. It’s a hollow victory.

Ignis takes a breath and tries to return to a more moderate tone. He came too close to shouting; that is unbecoming. “I have spent years thinking about all the ways I could get caught, and taken from you, and kept from you until it was time for you to begin your prophesied work. And I am vital to your success. What you did out in the living room wasn’t necessary, and what’s—”

“Not necessary?” Noctis scoffs, but the anger isn’t what worries Ignis most; it’s the way Noct’s voice wavers. “I can’t believe—it’s _necessary,_ all right? To me.”

Ignis knows he’s stepped right in it. “That’s not what I—” he starts, but Noctis won’t let him finish.

“I need it, okay?” Noct’s face goes red, but he forces himself onward. His crossed arms look less defensive and more protective now. “Someone to just—lean on, or touch, or—whatever. Training with Gladio is good, but it’s not—and I’ve tried not to ask you or anything unless I can’t stand it anymore because you—” Noctis swallows hard “—you freak out any time I want to touch you.”

“Noct.”

“You do! You go all still or you hesitate and—you only let me because no one else will do it. So why aren’t you glad there’s someone else I can bother when I need something?”

An awful, icy horror settles over Ignis’s heart and squeezes tight. “Is that what you think?” Ignis asks, aghast at the very idea that Noctis—that Noctis could possibly believe— “That—providing you physical reassurance is a burden I endure?”

“Then what is it?”

“I care for you, Noct,” Ignis says, because he cannot bear to let Noctis believe such a terrible thing about himself. “Far beyond what my position allows. And I am keenly aware of my own inability to rebuild walls once I have let them fall.”

Ignis has never let himself imagine that Noctis would be pleased by such a confession; the disbelief that floods Noct’s face is still suffocating.

“Take off your gloves,” Noctis demands.

It is more a test than anything, but Ignis does not hesitate this time. He hooks his left thumb underneath the leather of his right glove and peels it off.

(Gladio is in the Citadel. Gladio could return to Noct’s quarters at any moment. Gladio could catch him and—

—Ignis refuses to let Noctis believe that his desire to receive physical affection is a burden.)

Ignis strips his left glove off with equal efficiency and grips them both in his left hand. This time he doesn’t wait for Noctis to give him another order. He crosses the distance between the two of them and offers Noctis his right hand. By some miracle, Ignis keeps it steady.

This time it’s Noct’s turn to hesitate, but he does uncross his arms. The disbelief is still there in his face, though not as strongly. First one hand, then the other, clasp Ignis’s, and Noct’s hands—

They’re strong. Ignis expected that. They couldn’t be anything else with all the weapons training Noctis does, but it’s the warmth that surprises him. Without the gloves in the way, Noct’s hands are furnaces compared to his own, and some part of Ignis half expects he will be struck down for basking in that heat.

Either the gods are merciful, or they are sleeping.

Noctis looks up at him, and the mingled surprise and pleasure in Noct’s expression is enough to soothe Ignis’s fear, his jealousy, his anger. “Are your hands always this cold?” The question comes out half a laugh, and Ignis’s heart threatens to take flight.

“I’m afraid so,” Ignis says. “I think I would be partial to gloves, even without my wardrobe requirements.”

Noct’s expression falters and he looks back down at their hands. “Ignis, I—”

“Do not let my confession burden you,” Ignis says quietly. He never let himself dream of reciprocation and does not require it besides. “I am responsible for my feelings, not you.”

He nods, just a little. “Yeah, okay.”

Noctis doesn’t let go of his hand; Ignis does not pull away. This time the silence between them is comfortable. Warm.

“Noct,” Ignis says eventually, “is Prompto your third?”

“I want him to be. I just don’t—” Noct’s face scrunches up. “The third’s supposed to be _my_ choice. My ‘selection.’ Not destined, not the same way you and Gladio are. I mean, that’s how we’ve always interpreted that bit in the Cosmogony, you know? But Luna—she’s been writing Prompto for years, with Pryna.”

Ignis remembers seeing the other canine messenger when Lady Lunafreya was in Insomnia, but only then—he’s seen Gentiana more often since Lunafreya left the city than Pryna, and the last time Gentiana deigned to appear was over a year ago. Is that why Pryna has never been back to the Citadel?

“Does it count if Luna told Prompto to figure out a way to meet me? What if that means _she_ picked him and not me? What if I ask her, and she says that Prompto’s not the one? And what if—” Noct’s fingers flex around Ignis’s hand “—what if he doesn’t want to come back after…”

The way Noctis trails off is nearly enough to break Ignis’s heart. It _is_ enough for the dregs of his jealousy to drain away. There is only one possible course of action for Ignis at this juncture.

Ignis tucks his gloves into a suit jacket pocket and takes Noct’s right hand in both of his. Then he steps back just far enough that he can kneel formally in front of Noctis, as a retainer to his lord.

“Ignis—” Noct’s eyes are wide, but he doesn’t try to pull Ignis back to his feet or order him to stand back up.

“I will fix this,” Ignis vows. “Give me your leave to do so.”

He shouldn’t leave the Citadel under the circumstances. Tenebrae has fallen. The dynamics of the war could change just as swiftly as they had when they were yanked from their rooms in the early hours of the morning. It would be wildly irresponsible to leave right now.

Noctis looks down at him for a long moment, and then his lips pull into a small, crooked smile. “You have it, Specs.”

Ignis raises Noct’s hand a short distance, then pauses for confirmation. When Noctis gives a quick nod, Ignis finishes lifting Noct’s hand so he can press a brief fealty kiss to where Noctis will someday wear the Ring of the Lucii.

A moment passes, pressing heavy on Ignis’s heart. This is, in its own way, as sacred a vow as the one Ignis made on his eighteenth birthday, even if this one will enable additional blasphemy. Weighed against Noct’s happiness, there is no comparison, even if Ignis has to bury his fear and his guilt.

Noctis tugs on his hands, and Ignis obediently climbs back onto his feet. Neither of them let go of the other.

Ignis gives Noct’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Now then,” he says, “tell me more about Prompto.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! Did that go the way you thought it would? ;] 
> 
> (I’m really rather fond of writing arguments with Ignis. I should do that more. Also! Fun fact, this was the first ever confession of feelings I’ve written for the FFXV fandom. The one in EPF just happened to be posted first. --Audrey)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I suppose,” Ignis picks up the string of the teabag and moves it a little, "we should start from the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah, thank you for all your kind words last chapter. I’m so glad you enjoyed it. <3 --Audrey
> 
> Art for this chapter is by the lovely [nagi!](https://twitter.com/Nagifry). 
> 
> Now let’s check back in with Prompto. >D

It isn’t until the sun has completely set behind the skyscrapers and the lamps lining the gardens turn on that Prompto recognizes the passage of time.

If anyone walked by as he sat on the bench crying, he didn’t notice. And he wouldn’t have cared. Prompto leans back against the bench and stares up at the sky as he releases a long breath.

He doesn’t want to move, but he knows he should go home. The only thing he can do now is wait. He will show up for work tomorrow if he doesn’t hear anything tonight because he isn't a coward and will take the punishment he is due.

He goes to stand and his head swims a little. After regaining his balance, he moves forward. His feet are heavy—the effort each step takes has Prompto wanting to collapse on the ground. Lay out and wait for the crows to eat him. Or ants.

But he pushes on. Somehow he ends up on a train heading home, though he doesn't quite remember how he got there. He catches his reflection in the window; his eyes are red and puffy, tracks of tears visible down his cheeks.

He doesn't bother to wipe his face. He doesn't care about the concerned looks some of the people on the train give him.

He zones out again until he is in front of his house. Brains are crazy weird but also thank fuck for that. Once he has the door open, Prompto heads straight for the bathroom. He strips out of his boots and uniform and throws them out into his bedroom. He doesn't want to look at them right now. He turns the shower on as hot as it goes and steps in once steam floats in the air.

Skin turns pink instantly when he steps under the water but he doesn't care. Prompto finds himself wondering if this is kinda like the purification Gladio goes through before he trains with Noctis. Then he thinks about Ignis and the extra care he always takes to purify himself. Sometimes multiple times in a day.

Then Prompto thinks about Noctis sleeping on top of him.

He vigorously applies soap to his sponge and scrapes at his skin.

No amount of scrubbing seems to help the feeling of guilt that’s deep in his bones. He fucked up, he fucked up _so_ bad, and he isn't sure what he can do to fix this. He didn't do something frivolous like. Be ten minutes late. Or drop some fancy as fuck vase. He broke an ancient rule given by the Astrals.

Leave it to Prompto to fuck up in the worst way possible.

He cry-laughs and rinses off the soap, hissing at the sting of the water where he rubbed some of his skin too hard.

The hot water starts to become too much, so Prompto turns off the water. But the warmth hangs in the air. Prompto stands in the shower listening to the drops of water falling to the floor.

His thoughts move quickly without the sound of water to focus on. Will he see Noctis again? Maybe only when he is being judged, having his penalty determined. Or maybe not at all. Prompto wants to think Noctis didn’t mind what had happened—he remembers again how Noctis had touched Prompto, how he had seemed to welcome the way Prompto had reached across the table in the infirmary.

“Fuck.”

To interrupt the cycle of thoughts, Prompto finally steps out of the shower and dries himself off halfheartedly. He steps into the bedroom and shivers at the chill from the different temperatures. He gets into his sweatpants and one of his extra-large hoodies and doesn’t give a fuck about his wet hair plastered to his head.

Sitting on the bed, Prompto looks at his fingers poking out of the sleeves. He slides his hands back to hide them. He doesn't want to look at the offending limbs. Maybe they would just cut off his hands or something. It would be fitting to have some archaic way of handling an ancient law.

He falls backwards, arms curled up protectively to his chest. He knows he should eat. Should get rest for whatever the day brings him tomorrow. Maybe he should just go big and order some super fatty delicious dinner and eat the entire tub of ice cream he’s been avoiding for weeks.

If he’s gonna like…die. Or be arrested. Or whatever. He should enjoy his last night, right?

Or he could just sleep. Just lay there on his comforter with wet hair and hope that somehow, he can get the chance to redo this day so he could _not_ royally fuck up his life. He closes his eyes.

He hears a knock at the door, and his eyes go wide. He doesn’t move right away in case he is imagining it—not until the second series of knocks.

Prompto sits up too fast and his vision goes white. He braces himself on his hands and collects himself. Maybe it's the wrong house. Or...

Crownsguard to take him away. It had to have been enough time for Ignis to report what had happened and get the guard assembled to take him away.

Then there’s a buzzing and Prompto remembers his phone is still in his pants pocket on the floor. Finally, he wills his body to move and stumbles a little as he kneels to retrieve it. It’s an unknown number, which he would normally never answer. But he does this time.

“H-hello?”

“Prompto.” It’s Ignis. And somehow that is worse than anything he could have imagined. Faceless guards hold a different threat.

Ignis is the one who caught Prompto. Ignis is the one he disappointed the most.

“Prompto?”

He blinks because he hadn’t realized he just. Hadn’t spoken. “I’m. Here.”

“Can you please open the door?”

The question makes Prompto snap his head up to look out the bedroom door. “You’re here?”

“Yes, I’ve knocked several times now.”

Prompto swallows. Does he have to agree to let Ignis in to get arrested? What if he doesn't? His brain, in its mid-panic, thinks of the stories of vampires and how they have to be invited into a home to claim a victim.

He’s still on his knees in his bedroom. His uniform is still rumpled on the floor where he left it. He touches the sleeve of the coat.

“Ignis, sir—” Prompto isn't sure what to say because he sure as hell doesn't want to let Ignis in.

He looks behind him at his windows. He’s not so high up in his building. He’s sure he could somehow figure out a way to climb down safely.

“I just want to talk.” Ignis’s voice is calmer than back at the Citadel. But he is also smart, and professional, and has spent his life protecting Noctis and what he represents. Maybe Prompto is just another obstacle, one of many Ignis has had to remove.

Prompto is exhausted though. He braces himself with his free hand and stares at the carpet. “Look, I don’t want trouble. You don’t have to worry. I won’t go back. Just consider me fired. I’ll vanish. I won’t tell anyone ever—”

“You are not fired.”

Prompto lifts his chin as if Ignis were standing right in front of him. “I’m...what?”

He hears Ignis let out a small sigh. “If you would let me in, we can discuss this face to face.”

Prompto sits up a little more. “But...I fucked up.”

“I would wager it was probably not entirely your fault. Or maybe even at all.”

That makes Prompto stop breathing for a beat. He thinks about Noctis, about the small ways he would respond to Prompto being near sometimes.

About how Noctis hadn’t let go when Prompto tried to escape his grasp.

Prompto gets up on his feet. He heads out of the bedroom, towards his front door. When he looks through the peephole, he does in fact see only Ignis. No other guards, not even Gladio.

“Okay,” he doesn’t wait for an answer from Ignis before he hangs up, unlocks the deadbolt, and slowly opens the door.

Ignis looks a mess. He seems pale. Some strands of hair have started to fall over his forehead.

He isn't wearing his gloves.

Prompto lifts his face to finally meet Ignis eye to eye.

Ignis doesn't smile. But he also doesn't move. “May I come in?”

“Oh uh, yes, sir—yes. Um. Come in.”

Prompto steps aside and opens the door more. Ignis walks through and stands a few feet away from Prompto. He doesn't even scan the small living room or shitty kitchen space. His focus is squarely on Prompto, and that makes Prompto fidget. He needs to do something with his hands or he will break all over again.

Prompto closes the door and heads for the kitchen. “Tea? I don’t have many options just, uh, generic black or generic green and a slee-sleepy time tea, but I guess that wouldn’t be very good right now—”

“Black tea sounds wonderful, thank you.” Ignis still hasn't moved.

“O-okay. Just. I mean, please, have a seat.” Prompto motions to the small two-person table that counts as his dining room space, though the number of times Prompto has actually used it to eat at is nearly none. Prompto’s couch and coffee table have served him well and he doesn't ever usually have guests. So the table has definitely become more of a storage space than anything in this small apartment. There’s some mail piled up on one side, so Ignis takes the less cluttered side.

Prompto doesn't even have a matching set of mugs but whatever. He pulls out the most generic one he has—a narrow black one, and grabs his own school graduation mug that he kept after high school because well. Free mug.

He fills the kettle with water from the tap and has a split second of panic because Ignis surely doesn't drink tap water. Prompto turns the flame on high—that kills any gross things in the water, right? Maybe Ignis has a stellar immune system though anyways.

Prompto knows he is spiraling, but it’s always so hard to stop it once he’s going. Like that awful ride at the fair that locks you against the wall and fucking goes off. He stands in front of the stove and grips the counter on either side. His phone is in a pocket of his sweats, and Prompto really wants to text Noctis to ask him if he really isn't fired or if Ignis is actually there to get rid of him quietly.

Noctis would probably not respond so that wouldn't help anything anyways.

The kettle whistles. Prompto jumps and lets out a small yelp, which is really embarrassing considering everything else going on. He is (was) a soldier, a member of the Crownsguard, fuck.

He pours the hot water over the tea in each mug. Prompto has green because he doesn't need that much caffeine. He debates swapping it out for the sleepy time tea so he can try to chill out, but it would probably not be a good idea to risk yawning in front of Ignis.

He turns and walks to the table with a mug in each hand. He’s visibly shaking, and he barely makes it to the table without spilling. But at the table it’s all fucking over. He spills some of his _and_ Ignis’s as he sets the mugs down.

“Shit, sec hold on—'' The water makes its way towards his mail so he scrambles to gather it up. He steps back, letters are falling, he needs a napkin. Paper towels. Something to clean up the mess.

He trips over his own feet in his panic. He barely has the forethought to lead with this right shoulder as he goes down and lands hard.

“Prompto!”

He hears Ignis move, but he just. Lays there. Curled up with his mail held tight to his chest. He closes his eyes tight.

“I’m fine, I'm fine. Gimme a second. Sir. Please.”

The sound of the chair scraping on the floor tells him Ignis has sat back down. Prompto sits up, bringing up his knees to wrap his arms around his shins.

When he looks up at Ignis, he sees way more emotion there than he expects. And it isn't like...disgust. Or anger. It's almost like. Sympathy.

“Please relax, Prompto. I’m only here to talk to you. On behalf of myself, and His…” Ignis pauses and looks down at his lap where his hands—bare hands—are carefully folded. “And Noctis.”

That makes Prompto blink a few times. “So…” his tongue is heavy and his mouth is so fucking dry, “I’m not fired. And Noct...?”

“He requested I check in on you personally.”

Prompto’s legs are shaky as he stands. He leaves the pile of papers on the floor because there are way more pressing things to focus on. When he sits, he presses his hands flat on the table to help ground him. He notices too late that the table is dry and Ignis has stuffed a bundle of napkins into a ball next to the wall.

“I suppose,” Ignis picks up the string of the teabag and moves it a little. Prompto realizes there isn't anywhere for them to put the bags after the tea steeps but he doesn’t want to risk standing up again. “We should start from the beginning.”

Prompto doesn't even know what that means, but he can’t find his voice. He slides his hands to wrap around his cup to feel the heat and to give him another sensation to focus on. He also doesn’t entirely believe that he’s off the hook just yet.

Ignis pushes the cup away from him a little. He sits up and folds his hands on the table and settles a serious expression towards Prompto, who just grips the mug in his hands a little tighter.

“The Chosen King,” Ignis speaks with a reverence Prompto has come to recognize in him, “is a man from the line of Lucis, anointed by the Crystal, who has the capacity to banish the darkness, if he remains pure. All of that is recorded in the Cosmogony.”

Ignis pauses. Prompto nods once to show he is listening. He knows of course about the prophecy. It’s part of his training for the Crownsguard.

“However, there is an oral tradition among the Lucian royal family outside of that.”

The cup of tea is very much the last thing on his mind now. He probably would burn himself spilling it if he tried to drink it.

“Somnus Lucis Caelum, the Founder King and the Mystic, had an elder brother, whose name has been lost to history. That elder brother—he was meant to be the Chosen King. But when the time came for him to banish the darkness, the Crystal rejected him for his impurities. We don’t know what made him impure, only that he was, and that he died after being rejected. Somnus founded Lucis in his brother’s stead.

“It has taken two thousand years for the Crystal to identify another Chosen King. And rather than risk waiting _another_ two millennia, King Regis has put measures into place to ensure Noct’s purity, physical and ritual, as best we can, so that he won’t be rejected like Somnus’s older brother was.”

Prompto’s mind races to keep up with what Ignis is explaining, but the loudest thing he hears is _the first Chosen King was rejected..._

...and died because of it.

“According to the oral tradition, the darkness referenced in the Cosmogony is daemons. If Noctis is accepted by the Crystal, he can eradicate daemons, on all of Eos, permanently.”

If he is accepted. _If if if._ That word echoes in his head. All Prompto has known is that the Chosen King was the—well, the Chosen King. That was that. He had to be protected so he could fulfill his purpose and part of that included remaining untouched.

No one ever said Noctis’s life was on the line.

The silence hangs between them. Ignis is probably being polite about letting the new information sink in, but Prompto would actually rather he not know any of this now.

“Is…” Prompto starts, stops. He pushes the cup away and resigns himself to not hiding his emotions because they are well past that point. He covers his face with his hands and rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. He knows what he wants to ask, but he also doesn't want to, doesn't want to know what this could all mean. Not for Eos, but for _Noct_.

“Did I…?” Prompto starts again. He debates lowering his hands but then doesn't. He keeps his eyes closed. “Will he die? Is...”

“Prompto,” Ignis’s voice is very soft, “Noctis won’t die because of you.”

Somehow, hearing that breaks down every wall he had been frantically trying to keep up since he got on the train. He lets out a sob that aches in his chest, and he feels the tears overflowing past his hands and down his face. He braces his elbows on the table and just.

Cries.

With relief. Exhaustion. Fear.

Cold fingers wrap around his left wrist gently. Prompto looks between his fingers over at Ignis, who looks like _he_ might cry any second, and that just kicks him in the face even more, to see the person who Prompto would say is the most stoic of anyone he’s ever met getting emotional.

Ignis holds eye contact, and Prompto lowers his hands even though he’s still crying. Ignis releases him. His hand rests on the table between them.

“If there is one thing you take away from this conversation, I hope it will be this: should Noctis ever be rejected by the Crystal, it will not be your fault.”

Prompto blinks. He has no idea what Ignis is getting at.

Ignis very obviously takes a deep breath. “It will be mine.”

Prompto studies Ignis in an attempt to figure out what the hell that means, and finds he can’t.

“...what?”

Ignis is Noctis’s advisor. One of the trusted few, one of the people who is allowed within the small inner circle of the Chosen King. Why would he be…? Prompto opens his mouth to ask again.

“Have you ever seen him do this?” Ignis interrupts. He flips his hand on the table so it’s palm up. He curls his fingers up a little.

Prompto doesn't look at Ignis when he nods. Because there's that guilt again, admitting he’s done something he shouldn't and that he has _thought_ about doing it even more times than what he has acted on. Read between lines that didn't actually exist.

“It’s—how he asks for contact from me.”

Prompto’s body goes cold. Ignis’s hand curls into a fist and slides out of view.

Prompto suddenly remembers, all those weeks ago:

_“Are you one of the special circumstances as well, sir?”_

_“...I am expected to adhere to the same restrictions as everyone else.”_

He remembers the subtle way Ignis’s face had shifted when Prompto asked that question during his interview. A flurry of memories come flying at Prompto—the way Ignis and Noctis would sometimes exchange what almost seemed like a silent conversation, how Prompto would sometimes be requested to stand in the foyer, how the two of them would be in the office with the door shut.

The way Ignis had looked at Prompto when he had come in and they were eating pizza, and Prompto wasn’t wearing gloves.

The emotion in Ignis’s eyes earlier that afternoon.

The weight of all the levels of what has happened is so heavy Prompto isn't even sure he understands it all, but all he knows is there is a new guilt making itself known.

“I’m sorry!” Prompto blurts out and lowers his head in a bow, hands in fists on his knees. “I didn’t...It won’t happen again, I swear it—”

“Prompto, that’s not what I—what we want. That’s not why I’m here.”

When he lifts his head, Ignis is leaning forward on the table. “Sir?”

“You are never to discuss this with anyone else. No one.”

Prompto nods his head rapidly. “Got it, no one.” He pauses. “What about Lady Lunafreya?”

Ignis shakes his head. “No one.”

Another nod.

“Noct will signal most of the time if he would like contact. Sometimes he will ask if he feels he needs to be more forward. Other times…” Ignis pauses and pulls his shoulders back, “he may catch you off guard. Are you comfortable obliging?”

This conversation is definitely going in directions Prompto did not even come close to guessing. He went from getting fired, to, if he understands correctly, being allowed to touch Noctis.

“But...sir. I don’t understand.”

Ignis gives a faint smile. “There are other forces at play here, other things—that tie into all of this that I cannot discuss. But just know that Noctis regards you very highly. And if you remain in his guard, he will ask this of you again.”

“But the prophecy? The Crystal? You just said, he could…” Prompto can’t finish the sentence even with Ignis’s reassurance that Noctis won’t die because of him.

“We don’t know what made Somnus’s brother impure. It's a lot of conjecture. My duty is to serve Noctis. For me, what Noctis needs outweighs the king’s precautions. Do you feel the same?”

“Yes,” Prompto doesn't even pause to breathe, “yes, very much. I would do anything for him.”

Ignis nods. “Then you can continue as you were. Noctis told me he has enjoyed your company.”

Prompto will have to come back to Ignis’s comment later. What _did_ Noctis say to Ignis? “So... it’s okay?”

“Only if you are certain no one will catch you. That includes Gladio. He takes the prophecy extremely seriously, considering the potential risk.”

A part of Prompto wants to ask if Gladio would take out Ignis the same as Prompto if he were caught. But he decides not to push his luck today and instead focus on his own shit.

“I’m still a Crownsguard?”

“If you still want the post, yes.”

“I do, ya. Yes, sir.” Prompto sits back and he suddenly feels so. So tired.

Ignis stands up, and Prompto does as well, though he feels like he might pass out.

Ignis walks over to the door. “Then I’ll be going. Please get some rest. We shall see you tomorrow?”

“Ya. Sounds good.” Prompto follows Ignis in what feels like a daze.

“Do be sure to text Noct. I am sure he is waiting to hear from you.”

“Oh, okay. Will do.”

Prompto opens the door and bows his head a little as Ignis passes him to step outside. Ignis turns to look back at him.

“Have a good night, Prompto.”

“You too, Ignis. Sir.”

Prompto closes the door. He takes a step back, then another. Then more until he gets to his couch. He falls down on his back, leg draped over the edge. He remembers though, and gets his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, there are several texts from Noctis flashing on his screen asking where he is, as if he didn’t know exactly what was going on.

Prompto appreciates Noctis not asking any questions.

_Hey, I’m here now. King's Knight?_

Noctis replies with multiple sword emojis.

Prompto never thought he could get emotional over something so simple, but he is. He has to wipe his eyes with this hoodie as he loads up the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignis, desperately: Correlation is not causation, correlation is not causation...  
> Prompto: **blue screens**
> 
> So, what do you think will happen next, now that this conversation has taken place? //wiggles//
> 
> Shout out again to [nagi!](https://twitter.com/Nagifry) for the art! Please give them lots of love as well!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Okay, so. I guess, thanks? For not like, smiting me or whatever. I hope this means that I’m in the right place, and that I’m getting another chance. Just. Be patient with me, ya?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again and again for all your amazing comments on the last chapter!! Seriously, you are all so amazing and sweet we are overwhelmed. 
> 
> AND NOW! The longest day ever finally comes to an end...

It’s harder getting back into the Citadel than out of it, mostly because of additional security measures the Crownsguard are using on all vehicles that want to enter. Ignis is too wrung out for any real impatience to build; he simply waits in line until it’s his turn to show his ID and for the people on duty to sweep his car.

Once he’s waved through, it doesn’t take long to park the car and purify himself. He fishes his gloves out of his pocket and puts them back on, then catches the elevator that will take him up to Noct’s quarters. He manages to find a polite smile for the guards on the elevator doors and Valeria when she lets him inside. Valeria and her trainee don’t try to pry any information from him, which Ignis is grateful for; they just tell him that Noctis retreated to his bedroom after having dinner and purifying at his personal shrine.

Good. One more item Ignis can cross off his list of things to worry about. Ignis trades his shoes for slippers and goes to Noct’s bedroom. He knocks twice, and when Noctis says to come in, he does, shutting the door behind him.

Noctis is dressed down for bed, but he’s sitting up with his back to the headboard and his legs tucked underneath the covers. He has his phone up close, and he’s tapping away furiously with both thumbs while tinny sound effects play in the background. “Hey, Specs,” he says without looking up, but Ignis doesn’t mind that Noctis is focused elsewhere.

Ignis waits until victory music plays, and then he asks, “So did you actually convince Gladio to play King’s Knight with you, or has it been Prompto this whole time?”

Noctis ducks his head a little. “I did. Just—mostly Prompto.”

A quiet laugh escapes Ignis, more breath than sound. Ignis is—he’s not sure what exactly to name the tangle of emotions in his chest. There’s a strand of jealousy in the mix, though it has lost all its sharp edges. Because happiness is mixed in there, too, a bright, humming cord of it. Though Ignis and Gladio have done their best to make Noct’s life less lonely, Noct’s existence is still an isolated one. That Noctis has found and made a friend is unequivocally a good thing.

Relief is there, too, threaded throughout. That Ignis was able to fix this situation, as he promised Noctis he would.

Noctis taps at his phone for a few more seconds and then actually sets it aside to look at him properly. “You were gone for a long time.”

“I was waylaid by Gladio before I could leave the Citadel,” Ignis says, apologetically. He steps closer so he can lower his voice and explain what has happened since he left.

Gladio and Clarus had finished their conversation regarding changes to increase Citadel security, and considering the circumstances, it wasn’t as if Ignis could say he had something more important to attend to and he had to leave the Citadel. Not without explaining—well, everything that happened in Noct’s quarters.

So Ignis told Gladio he was in his office and waited for him to arrive so they could talk, all the while Prompto’s address was punched into his phone’s navigation app. By the time Gladio was satisfied and Ignis convinced him to go crash in his Citadel quarters, it was far past sunset.

It only takes a few minutes to explain what happened once he finally made contact with Prompto, though Ignis is careful to keep some details to himself. Noctis doesn’t need to know how skittish Prompto was at his appearance, nor does he need to know that Prompto cried after Ignis reassured Prompto of his innocence in whatever fate Noctis’s fate is with the Crystal.

“I have some things to ask of you, Noct,” Ignis says once he has reassured Noctis that Prompto will be in for his shift tomorrow. “The first is to be more careful about when and where you ask for affection. Prompto is—rather bad at saying no to you. As am I,” he adds, a little rueful.

Noctis has the grace to look embarrassed about that. “Yeah. I’m—I know. The living room wasn’t a good idea.”

Ignis nods once and lets that matter go. A good scare, for all of them, should make them more mindful in the future. “Second, I ask that you not deceive me again,” he says, as gently as possible. “It is very difficult for me to make plans when I don’t have the information I need.”

It is true that Ignis should have been more observant regarding how close Noctis and Prompto became. In retrospect, the signs were there: Noctis texting his “father” more often, how Noctis hadn’t seemed entirely pleased when Prompto was changed to the afternoon shift, the fact that his difficulty waking up in the mornings were reduced after that shift change, more dishes than normal being piled in his sink, and so on. The deception still stings, yet Ignis cannot muster much, if any, anger or disappointment.

Concern, mostly. And a bone-deep, sympathetic ache, that Noctis felt he had to hide it.

“Sorry,” Noctis mutters. A hint of color graces his cheeks. “I just—” He waves his hand. “I wanted him to be—but I wasn’t _sure._ And I didn’t—want to get everyone else’s hopes up, too.”

“I know,” Ignis reassures him. “Which brings me to my last point. Please, consider asking Lady Lunafreya if Prompto is the one we have been seeking. At the very least, she should be able to tell you if the path she encouraged Prompto to take disqualifies him from consideration.”

Noct grimaces, but he does look up at Ignis again. “Yeah, okay. I will. The next time Umbra shows up.”

Provided the Messenger does show up. Provided Lady Lunafreya is safe, and free of the Empire. Ignis hopes that the Kingsglaive will find her soon.

“Regardless of her answer, I think Prompto should stay as part of your guard,” Ignis says. “He is devoted to you, and you clearly enjoy his company.”

How could Ignis ever send Prompto away, when Prompto said he, too, would prioritize what Noctis wants over the king’s own commands? Over the dire whispers of two millennia of kings?

Noctis lets out a long breath. “Thanks, Iggy.”

That little _thanks_ is enough to sweep away some of his weariness. Ignis inclines his head slightly in acceptance. “May I suggest you get to bed soon? On the off chance we’re woken up early again.”

“I’m not a kid,” Noctis says, mock petulantly, and then slides down under his covers without breaking eye contact.

Ignis says, “Clearly,” as dryly as possible. But the playfulness in Noct’s demeanor vanishes then, so abruptly that Ignis worries he crossed some line with a single word. “Noct?”

Noct’s eyes are dark with something like apprehension. “How terrible would I be,” he starts, voice quiet, “if I…”

He doesn’t finish the question aloud, just reaches out with one hand, palm up, fingers curling slightly.

Something in Ignis’s heart threatens to break, and he’s not sure if it’s because Noctis is worrying about hurting his feelings or because the space between them has shifted despite Ignis’s best efforts.

Or, perhaps, because it is painfully obvious now that Noctis has been holding back for years when it comes to asking for what he wants.

“Not at all,” Ignis says, and he means it. He goes right next to Noct’s bed and reaches out with his right hand.

Noctis doesn’t demand he remove the glove this time; he just tangles their fingers together and squeezes tightly. He hangs on like that for several moments, and there is something—reassuring about the way that Noctis clings to his hand. Yes, things have shifted, but maybe it has shifted less than Ignis fears. At least Noctis knows now that Ignis doesn’t consider his requests for comfort to be something distasteful.

The fear is still there, threading between Ignis’s ribs and into his heart. But it has lost some of its dagger-sharp edge. He is at this point probably too worn out to feel it properly. Gladio is still in the Citadel, Valeria is still in the entryway—

( _Please,_ Ignis thinks, and his desperation tips the thought over into prayer. _Don’t hold this against Noct._ )

Noct’s phone buzzes somewhere within the bedding, and Ignis bites back a small smile as Noctis goes fishing for it with his free hand, unwilling to let go of Ignis. Whatever Noctis sees on the screen makes him frown slightly.

“Do you need to get back to your game?” Ignis asks, without rancor.

Noctis makes a face but doesn’t deny it. He does, however, look up at Ignis thoughtfully. “You don’t have to leave,” Noctis says, and he tugs a little on Ignis’s hand.

It’s an obvious invitation to climb onto the bed beside Noctis, and Ignis does his best to tamp down his irresponsible heartbeat. He lets Noctis draw him a little closer until his knees brush the bed, but he stops there. “I have work to do.”

“Are you serious?” Noctis scowls up at him. “You’ve been up since _three._ No more work. Royal decree.”

Ignis can’t help but smile faintly at the childish command. “Then I ought to be sleeping. And no, not here. I’ve no desire for an encore of this afternoon.”

Noctis looks surprised first, or perhaps shocked, that Ignis would reference the incident in the living room so lightly. The surprise turns quickly to suspicion. “Are you trying to maneuver me into a compromise?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Ignis tries for innocently confused but can’t quite manage it.

“Stay, and you can do whatever work you can on your phone.”

“You make work sound like a reward,” Ignis says. “Am I truly that dull?”

“Never,” Noctis says. He tugs again on Ignis’s hand. “Come on.”

But Noct’s courage falters when Ignis doesn’t move immediately, and the uncertainty in his expression takes Ignis by the throat. “If you don’t want—”

“Scoot over,” Ignis says with less reflexive fear than he feels, and when Noctis does, he steps out of his slippers and climbs up into bed.

He doesn’t try to get under the covers; Ignis is fully aware of the chance he may need to get off the bed quickly, though Valeria at least waits to be allowed in whenever she knocks, unlike Gladio. He settles down, back to the headboard, legs stretched out in front and crossed at the ankle.

Noct looks like he’s trying not to smile, but it’s clear he is pleased. Ignis gives his hand a final squeeze and then let’s go. “Go on, don’t keep Prompto waiting.”

“Thanks, Ignis.” The words come out soft, and Noctis shifts, rolling onto his side so his back is to Ignis. He moves until his back is pressed to Ignis’s thigh, a long line of contact that is muted by the covers between them.

The King’s Knight music resumes, and Ignis pulls out his own phone. He doesn’t know how long he can work, with his focus also split between the press of Noct’s back and the bedroom door. But someone needs to begin making plans for Prompto to be part of Noct’s future, and tonight, the best person for that is him. Ignis will last as long as he can before he takes his leave.

* * *

As Prompto climbs the steps towards the entrance of the Citadel he has several pointed moments of near panic.

He imagines Gladio. Cor. Ignis. Nyx. All blocking the doors and staring Prompto down. He imagines being pulled sideways by Valeria, down to some secret underground hideout or lair or torture chamber where Prompto is left for the rest of his life because Prompto nearly caused the end of the world.

Or something.

Prompto pauses on the last steps before he can see the courtyard. Takes a few breaths. Ignis talked to him, invited him back. Said it was...well not ideal but. Prompto isn’t fired, isn’t in trouble, or going to jail. He just has to not tell literally anyone and make sure no one, including Gladio, catches him.

But no big deal, right, just having to keep a secret from the Chosen King’s _Shield._

“Fuck.” Prompto almost sits down right there on the steps and gives up. He isn’t sure his heart can fucking handle this.

But then he thinks of Noctis, who enjoys video games and naps and looking at Prompto’s shitty pictures and makes Prompto feel like for the first time in his life he is exactly where he is supposed to be.

_But just know that Noctis regards you very highly._

Prompto replays those words as he straightens up and pulls back his shoulders. He steps into the courtyard and pauses to look around...no one is paying him any attention. Crownsguards are going about their business, trainees gather and talk. People slip past him after their shifts.

Everything is moving forward like nothing is wrong. Because nothing is. Wrong. _Right_. Prompto has to just keep it together. He seems to be having a harder time with that lately. If he acts suspicious in front of Gladio, then everything will be over, according to Ignis.

Gladio takes this seriously. Prompto _has_ to be careful.

Prompto honestly isn’t sure he entirely understands what happened the day before—he knows each individual thing that occurred, but the day ended in a way he hasn’t really sorted out yet. Prompto wonders if Noctis will bring up The Nap at all, or just go on pretending Prompto hadn’t broken the biggest taboo, that Noctis hadn’t been draped over him like it was no big deal. That he sent Ignis out to talk to Prompto and give him _permission_.

Once inside, its clear security is still beefed up, and probably will stay that way for a while. What Prompto has been able to gather about what happened in Tenebrae is mostly thanks to his time waiting for them to come out of filming, and the conversation he witnessed between Ignis, Gladio, and Noctis. He hasn’t had time for much else.

After Ignis had left his place, Prompto had resigned himself to King’s Knight and binge-watching trashy reality tv until he passed out. Maybe he should have taken the time to read the news on Tenebrae, to learn more about what was going on. His duty is to Noctis, so maybe he should be aware of any potential threats. But also, no one has told him that he needs to do that—Noctis has Ignis and Gladio by his side, and they are way better at all this politics stuff.

So Prompto can be the person that Noctis doesn’t have to worry about that stuff with, maybe.

He doesn’t let himself think about what else he can do to help distract Noctis. He doesn’t think about how it felt in those brief seconds before he saw his life flash before his eyes to have Noct resting on top of him. Relaxed. Comfortable.

He won’t think about how good it feels every time he makes Noctis smile. Nope.

There’s still fifteen minutes before his shift starts, which is good because he wants to make sure he has enough time to go through the purification ritual. While he never got told he did anything _wrong_ , this time it feels heavy, the weight of it bearing down on his back. He has to do this right, because there isn't a question anymore in his head of whether or not he could somehow maybe touch Noctis. It’s just a question of _when_.

Will Noctis ask today? Will Prompto understand that’s what he’s asking for? He slips off his gloves at the fountain and takes deep breaths as he moves slowly through the ritual. Clapping his bare hands together he squeezes his eyes tight as his index fingers touch between his eyebrows.

_Okay, so. I guess, thanks? For not like, smiting me or whatever. I hope this means that I’m in the right place, and that I’m getting another chance. Just. Be patient with me, ya?_

He inhales a deep breath. Exhales. He repeats the words that he has grown accustomed to saying every shift.

_I’m here for Noctis. He is my priority; he is my reason. Please, help me do my best for him._

He opens his eyes and clears his throat. This time those words ring something completely different than before. He can’t exactly say why. Just a feeling.

Hands dried off and gloves back on, Prompto heads for the elevators and makes his way up. He passes the guards, and they don’t treat him any different.

By the time he reaches the door to Noct’s suite, his heart is hammering in his throat and he feels like he is sweating through his uniform.

“Get it together,” he whispers low enough he hopes the guards can’t hear. Then he knocks.

Scaevola opens the door, and nods before he and his trainee step out into the hallway. Prompto moves inside and once the door shuts, Prompto stills in the foyer, listening for sounds of movement. He hears low voices towards the office. Stepping further in, he sees the office doors are open.

Directly across from Prompto is Noct’s personal fountain, and Prompto’s hands itch with the thought that maybe he hasn’t done enough, that he should do one more—

Prompto stiffens when Gladio walks through the office door and makes eye contact. Prompto immediately salutes and prepares himself to beg for mercy and—

“Ya,” Gladio isn’t talking to Prompto, he’s looking over his shoulder behind him, “he’s here.”

“Ah, excellent.”

Prompto doesn’t move from his position. Gladio didn’t tell him he could leave his post, so even after Gladio turns and moves back inside the office, he stays put. All thoughts about going to the fountain are far removed because that would definitely be suspicious to Gladio. Prompto just has to hope, believe, that he’s done enough and that the gods or whatever will continue to be on his side.

He is still in the exact same spot when Ignis and Gladio emerge from the office. Gladio walks past and pauses at the door, but Ignis stops in front of Prompto.

“Gladio and I have some matters to attend to while Noctis continues to rest. After today though, his schedule will most likely become busier as things progress.”

Prompto salutes, hand to heart. “Yes, sir.”

“We are still on high alert; no one but the King, his guards, and myself and Gladio have permission to come in. If food is brought up, you must collect it in the hallway and bring it in yourself.”

Prompto holds his salute and nods. He doesn’t mind not being able to go anywhere, or let anyone in. That relieves some of the pressure of this first day of new possibilities.

Gladio opens the door, and Ignis passes through it. Gladio gives a salute, and then the door shuts. Prompto counts to ten. To twenty.

“Prompto?”

He jumps and nearly yelps as Noctis steps out of the office. He looks...nervous? As he motions towards the living room.

“Wanna watch something?”

“Ya, sure!”

Noctis smiles and Prompto takes the initiative, stepping over to turn on the tv and grabbing the remote as he plops down on the couch. He wants to stay casual, to show Noctis they are chill. That he can exist in this space.

“I get to pick today.”

“Hey, what?” Noctis comes around and sits beside him. Prompto doesn't miss how close Noctis puts himself—closer than any other time they’ve sat together to watch something. He doesn't comment though. Ignis said Noctis would make specific gestures, and so he can’t jump ahead and risk startling Noctis.

“Let’s just say to call it even.”

Noctis studies him, then pouts and crosses his arms. “Fine. Just this once.”

“Yes!” Prompto pumps a fist up in the air. “Cooking show time.”

Noctis groans and throws his head back. “No, no, no, that’s not fair!”

“You never wanna watch them with me!”

“Because they are boring.”

“You don’t appreciate the art of it.”

Noctis wheezes as he tries and fails to swipe the controller out of Prompto’s’ grasp. “You’ve officially hung around Ignis too much!”

Prompto shoves the controller down the front of his jacket and smiles proudly. Noctis looks at it, then Prompto.

“That's so unfair.”

Prompto shrugs and turns to rest against the couch as the baking show starts. It’s a series he never gets to watch because he doesn’t have cable, but it's one he’s always just kept track of online. It’s always weirdly comforting to watch the wholesome clips from.

Out the corner of his eye he watches Noctis accept his fate and relax. Prompto is still trying not to think about how close they are and focus instead on the tv. Noctis is clearly bored though; he gets his phone out and starts scrolling through it. Prompto doesn't say anything though because it's his home, he can do what he wants.

Another ten minutes in and there’s movement beside him. Noctis is still focused on his phone in his left hand, but his right settles between them on the couch, palm up and fingers slightly bent.

Prompto stops breathing.

He doesn't move his head, he doesn’t look down, he doesn't make a sound. But he brings his left hand down to rest on Noct’s, palm to palm.

Noct keeps his attention on his phone. Prompto keeps watching the show. He squeezes, once, and Noctis returns the gesture.

He hopes Noct finds comfort, like this. Prompto is more than happy to help. It’s such a small thing to offer in comparison to so much Noctis could ask for.

At some point Noctis pulls his hand away so he can use both while on his phone, and Prompto breathes a tiny bit easier. There’s still a fear that’s carried itself over from the day before, and he doesn’t want to tempt fate more than Noct does.

Prompto watches the show more to distract himself from thinking about the feeling of _holding hands_ with Noct that he doesn't hear Umbra until the dog is barking at them both, sending them flying towards opposite sides of the couch.

“Umbra?” Noctis looks up over Prompto’s head. “Oh, hey Specs.”

Prompto winces. He turns to see Ignis there with a very angry look in his eyes. “Noct.”

Ignis doesn't say anything else. He turns towards the kitchen and Umbra runs after him. Prompto sets the remote on the table and follows Noctis to the kitchen table.

“You are both very lucky,” Ignis pulls the container for Umbra’s treats out of the cupboard, “that I sent Gladio to fetch more treats when we saw Umbra. I even sent you both a text.”

Prompto swallows and Noctis sighs. “It would have been fine, Specs.”

The dots connect quick—Noctis had been on his phone, and he did pull his hand away from Prompto. He assumes now it was because of that text, and not because Noctis was tired of holding hands or wanted to create distance between them.

That stirs a new feeling in his stomach.

They both hear the door open, and Prompto makes a quick check to ensure he is a decent distance away from Noctis as Gladio appears out of the foyer.

“Got ‘em.” Gladio holds up a bag of dog treats and Umbra starts barking happily and running around him. “Geez, you starvin’ or something?”

Prompto watches as Gladio makes Umbra go through a series of tricks like the dog is one of his soldiers in training. Then Umbra gets his treat, and Noctis pulls the notebook out of the satchel and takes a seat at the table. Prompto opts not to sit, instead crouching to the ground and reaching out a hand for Umbra and giving the pup good scratches under his chin.

“She’s safe,” Noctis whispers. Prompto looks up but all he can see is Ignis and Gladio, both still standing, looking relieved.

“Pryna is looking for Ravus, no word on him yet.”

It has been a while since Prompto has seen Tiny. This must be why.

Ignis and Gladio exchange a look. “If anyone can find him, I’m sure Pryna can.”

“Anything else?”

“She’s in Duscae...”

“Ulric and Ostium should be nearby with their teams. We should let her know that she can find friends nearby.”

Prompto’s hand pauses midway down Umbra’s back. The dog turns his head and gives Prompto a huff. Prompto mouths _sorry_ and continues scratching.

The conversation around him becomes background noise. Lady Lunafreya could show up here, in the Citadel. It already seemed wild Prompto had achieved his goal to be among Noctis’s guard, but meeting her had always seemed like...an even wilder pipedream. The real unachievable goal. The wish.

But that had been because she lived in Tenebrae, or was traveling Eos doing amazing Oracle things, and Prompto hadn’t thought he would ever travel outside Insomnia to cross her path.

Gladio gives a sharp laugh, pulling Prompto out of his thoughts. “Good luck keeping her from looking for her brother. She’s stubborn, like her mother.”

The word hangs in the air. Prompto knows Queen Sylva is dead. He knows this all weighs heavy on everyone, that the jokes mask the hurt. Prompto’s a pro at that.

“Lady Lunafreya knows Pryna is best suited for finding him, if he can be found. She knows Ulric and Ostium, and will trust them.” Ignis pauses. “And I hope she trusts us.”

Umbra slides away from Prompto and to Ignis, and Ignis’s expression softens. Seems like no one is safe from the charm of a pup. “You’ll help Lady Lunafreya stay safe, right Umbra?”

He barks once and then paws at the ground with one front foot.

“Thanks,” Noctis smiles but he looks sad.

“She’ll be safe,” Prompto chimes in. The other three all look at him and he wonders if they forgot he was there, “and then we’ll fix everything.”

At those words, something happens between them all. Noctis sits up a little more, smiling. Ignis seems to relax, and Gladio has that same look as he did the first time Prompto did the purification ritual.

Prompto smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where In The World Is Lady Lunafreya?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This isn’t about causing injury or getting a ‘kill.’” Ignis spins the polearm in front of him. “Today you will be teamed up with His Highness, against myself and Gladio.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again and again for your support and kind words! Seriously, we can't say enough how much we appreciate you all. 
> 
> This chapter has art, provided by [Mort!](https://linktr.ee/LeSoldatMort)
> 
> So we heard you like learning more about the rituals of this au HOPE YOU MEANT IT

“All right, out with it,” Gladio says as soon as Ignis finishes pouring them both a glass of wine. He gestures to the spread of cheeses, cured meats, nuts, vegetables, and fruit the kitchen staff were able to put together for Ignis with advance notice and a small list. “What do you want?”

Ignis keeps a straight face, even though the point of the setup is to tip Gladio off to just that. “Can’t I enjoy your company?”

Gladio snorts. “You don’t have to get fancy to do that.” He doesn’t reach for the board even though Ignis made sure to include several of his favorites; he just watches Ignis from across the table like he is sizing up a new sparring partner. “You actually seem to be in a good mood, which is a miracle after all the shit that happened this week.”

And Gladio doesn’t even know about the most significant stressors in Ignis’s life this week, the ones that are even more important to him than the fall of Tenebrae and the ticking countdown it represents for the war.

“So either you want something, or you’re celebrating something,” Gladio concludes. “Which is it?”

“It’s too early to celebrate just yet, I think,” Ignis admits.

He motions for Gladio to begin, and Gladio rolls his eyes but does grab a cheese knife. After a moment of deliberation, Gladio goes for the semi-hard cheese nearest him and selects an artisanal cracker from a nearby stack. He dumps his slice of cheese atop the cracker and lifts them in a mocking sort of toast. Or, perhaps, as proof that he’s willing to follow Ignis’s lead for the moment. “How can I help you, Lord Chamberlain?”

It is not his title yet, and it won’t be until Noctis ascends the throne and officially appoints him to the position. But it is as good a place to start as any.

“Noct’s stubborn streak has taken an interesting turn as of late.”

Gladio pops the food into his mouth and chews thoroughly. “You need help talking him down from something?”

“No, this isn’t a matter of persuasion—or at least, it’s not Noctis who needs to be persuaded, not by us. He has largely persuaded himself.”

“Who do you need me to sweet-talk then?”

“Your father.”

Gladio eyes him for a heartbeat. “What’s Noct want from his dad? He’s not going to push about the Ring again, is he? Because Regis isn’t about to budge on that right now. Dad tried to talk him down from expanding the Glaive recruitment, and that didn’t work.”

“It’s not about the Ring, or the war. Not directly, at least.” Ignis looks Gladio straight on and says plainly, “In the last message he wrote to the Lady Lunafreya, Noctis asked if Prompto is his third Swordsworn.”

Gladio breathes in sharply, a short, surprised sound. He doesn’t try to mask the concern in his expression when he says, voice flat, “Did he now?”

“I know what it must look like with the timing,” Ignis says quietly. His bare fingers trace the base of his wine glass for a moment before he forces his hand to still. “And had Noctis brought it up himself, I would be skeptical, too.”

Skeptical that Noctis would risk his own ruin to prove to his father he is capable of taking on more of the burden.

“You asked him, then? If Prompto’s the one.”

“Yes. The day Tenebrae fell.” Ignis won’t, _can’t,_ go into the details there, and presses onward. “It was the third time I asked him. The two times prior, weeks ago, he demurred. But Noctis finally confessed that he wants Prompto to be his third.”

Gladio runs his hand over his mouth. “Just wants? He doesn’t know for sure?”

Ignis shakes his head. “According to Noctis, he discovered that Prompto has been corresponding with Lady Lunafreya. And so he has been hesitating, uncertain if her urging Prompto to befriend him takes Prompto out of consideration.”

It is an interesting reverse of positions, Ignis knows. Now it is his turn to advocate for Prompto, and it is Gladio’s turn to be cautious. Gladio considers Ignis’s response and sits back in his chair. He’s not crossing his arms, which is a positive, if small, sign. So Ignis keeps going.

“You’ve noticed their growing familiarity, I trust?”

Gladio’s mouth quirks, just a little. “Yeah. Noticed you haven’t been scolding Prompto so much lately, either.”

“He hasn’t done much to earn it lately,” Ignis lies. He tries not to think about catching Prompto and Noctis on the couch, twice. Though he hasn’t caught them since, so perhaps they have finally learned caution.

“Or maybe you’re going soft on him.”

Ignis makes a face, but it—isn’t entirely untrue. Prompto is still unpolished. But much can and will be forgiven for the simple fact that Prompto pledged to put Noct’s wellbeing over the king’s command. “Perhaps.”

Gladio’s quiet for a long moment, and Ignis knows better than to push. Gladio is entirely capable of digging his heels in, especially if he thinks someone needs to offer counter advice. Noct’s third Swordsworn is a decision that is inexorably tied to Noct’s fate. Even if the fact that Noctis _wants_ Prompto to be his third is a strong sign he could be the one.

“I can’t just talk up Prompto to my dad,” he says finally. “He’ll know straight away I’m making shit up if I’m not convinced myself. And he’ll be suspicious as hell right after Tenebrae. So will Regis.”

Ignis is very careful not to smile. It’s not a clear victory, but it’s an opening toward _yes._ Perhaps it will all be naught, should Lady Lunafreya deliver unfortunate news; Ignis would rather do the work of preparing the ground for a positive outcome. And even if Prompto _isn’t_ the third Swordsworn, there’s no reason Prompto couldn’t join Noctis’s retinue—

Perhaps he really _is_ going soft.

Ignis nods once and says, “Shall I make arrangements, then?”

It takes a few days to figure out how to rearrange all three of their schedules to have free time during one of Prompto’s shifts. Ignis manages to orchestrate an hour of downtime right between two blocks of meetings. There’s enough time for them to retreat to Noct’s quarters for a break, but no real reason for them to split up as Ignis and Gladio’s presences are required before and after.

Noctis, for his part, does as Ignis requested and summons Prompto to join him in the office. They leave the double doors open, and their voices drift over to the kitchen table, where Ignis and Gladio have parked themselves. Ignis busies himself reviewing the catalog of alleged sightings of Prince Ravus.

At the very least Niflheim hasn’t issued a statement declaring Ravus captured or killed, which is a positive sign. Crownsguard intelligence operatives abroad have been tasked with offering him refuge in Insomnia, should he cross their paths.

Ignis hopes that Ravus managed to flee Tenebrae. The empire cements its hold over the country with every passing day, and the remnants of the Tenebraen army have yet to win a victory over their occupiers despite their best efforts, as Niflheim’s state-controlled media enjoys crowing about. The ramp up of the war effort has made Aldercapt’s unstable court more chaotic than normal—there’s even rumor that the emperor appointed an imperial chancellor, a defunct title that hasn’t been filled in over three hundred years.

There is still no word, through the Kingsglaive or Umbra, about Lunafreya’s whereabouts, either. It is a cause for concern with the report of MT reinforcements and patrols around Aracheole Stronghold. Niflheim likely knows she was last in Duscae, mopping up the Starscourge outbreak. Are they searching for her on Lucian soil?

Ignis debates getting up and making everyone tea. Perhaps it will help settle his mind. Gladio pretends he’s focused on his phone and not the conversation happening in the other room. From what bits of conversation Ignis can make out, they’re going through Prompto’s photography blog again.

(Hearing Noct’s questions about the pictures Prompto takes outside the Citadel makes Ignis’s heart ache. Even if he can’t hear every word, there is no mistaking the quiet longing in Noct’s tone. Ignis wishes he had thought of doing something like this years ago.)

Ignis’s phone buzzes with a text from Gladio: _Okay, they do actually seem to get along pretty well. Think Prompto realizes Noct’s treating him like a friend?_

 _I’m not sure if Noctis has called him that yet,_ Ignis sends back, because it is the most honest answer he can give that doesn’t involve catching them on the couch together. _I told Prompto not long ago that Noctis enjoyed his company, and he seemed startled by the idea._

Whatever response Gladio might have made to that is forgotten when Noctis—

Laughs.

Loud and rich with warmth, drifting through the double doors. Prompto’s voice dissolves into laughter a heartbeat later, interrupted by some kind of token protest that Ignis doesn’t quite get since he missed whatever set Noctis off in the first place.

And Ignis is— _stunned_ isn’t quite the right description. He’s heard Noctis laugh like this before, but not often. Certainly not in the last few months. There’s a sharp warmth blooming in his chest, a heady mixture of fondness and jealousy and protectiveness that threatens to make his breath catch.

(If Prompto can keep making Noctis laugh like this, Ignis thinks he will be able to bury his jealousy entirely someday.)

Ignis is at the wrong angle to see inside the office, but whatever Gladio sees makes the broad line of his shoulders relax. After a moment, Gladio turns back to his phone and sends another text:

_Smug’s a good look on you._

Ignis, Gladio, and Noctis retreat to the office later that night, long after Prompto’s shift ends, leaving Valeria and her trainee shadow in the entryway. Noctis drops into an armchair at the head of the sitting area, slumping down into it, and Ignis and Gladio take one of the couches.

“Well?” Noctis asks. He’s been very good about not demanding to know what Gladio thought until after Prompto was gone, but it’s obvious now that he’s out of patience.

“You and Prompto seem to be pretty good friends,” Gladio admits. “But there’s a big difference between a new friend and your third Swordsworn. A friend we can add to your retinue, easy. Ignis can dig up some kind of honorary title for him if that’s what you want. So what makes you think Prompto’s your third?”

Noctis doesn’t answer immediately, which isn’t a surprise. He looks away from them both while he carefully pieces together what he wants to say. His fingers dig into his chair’s armrests. When Noctis finally does look back at them, there’s a thread of vulnerability in his voice. “When you or Ignis aren’t around, it feels like—something’s missing. Some piece of me is just gone. And it happens with Prompto, too.”

The words are hooks under Ignis’s ribs, threatening to pry him open.

Gladio lets out a long breath. “Okay, then. Ignis?”

“Assuming Lady Lunafreya confirms that Prompto is not excluded as Noctis’s third, our next obstacle is King Regis.” Ignis keeps his voice as neutral as possible. “It is possible that he may perceive any announcement of having found the last Swordsworn as having another motive related to recent developments in the war.”

Noctis sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I get it. I’ve—been an asshole.”

“I wouldn’t characterize it as such,” Ignis says, but he doesn’t deny that Noct’s strained relationship with his father has complicated things. Ignis doesn’t even know if Noctis has mentioned Prompto to his father, and Prompto has been part of Noct’s guard for weeks now.

Gladio snorts. “That’s because Ignis is the polite one.”

Noctis flips Gladio off. Ignis ignores that and continues, “You need to reconcile with your father. Requesting a meal together would be a good start.”

“Yeah, fine.” Noctis slumps down in his chair. “I’ll even do one of his breakfasts, if that’s the only time our schedules will work.”

Considering Regis usually takes his breakfast around the same time that Ignis does, that is quite the pledge.

“Gladio has committed to putting in a good word for Prompto with Clarus.”

“Actually,” Gladio interrupts. His smile is all teeth. “I had a better idea.”

* * *

Prompto’s just pulled on his gloves when his phone pings and vibrates on his bathroom sink. It’s the notification he’s set up specifically for Ignis—after the second couch incident Prompto determined he wouldn’t be so careless about his time with Noctis.

He picks up the phone to see the start of the text which reads _change of plans._ Resisting the urge to look at the news to see if something else terrible has happened, he instead opens the message so he doesn't leave Ignis hanging for long.

 _Change of plans._ The message then continues, _Head straight to the training grounds for your shift; we will meet you there._

It isn’t the kind of thing Prompto expected to see, but it doesn’t leave him much less nervous. Getting the opportunity to watch Noctis train always gives Prompto a feeling, like he wants to be in on it, by his side.

Prompto once again squashes that other feeling, the one that pokes up whenever he doesn’t get to hang out with Noctis alone for most of his shift. There’s way bigger things happening right now than whatever the hell he’s worrying about. Maybe Noctis has to spend more time training, because they are on the verge of an all-out war. Ignis had mentioned Noctis would need to do some training work with daggers, so it could also be that.

Bigger picture.

Just to make sure though, Prompto does scroll through news sites once he’s on the train to make sure nothing _has_ happened that would be cause for alarm. There’s nothing but the same that’s been going on since Tenebrae fell—rumored sightings of Lady Lunafreya, Ravus thought dead, what this means for Insomnia. That last question makes Prompto’s mouth tighten into a line—Insomnia isn’t the one burning right now, Noctis is alive and safe, and so is the king.

He tries not to think about the implications of Niflheim’s successful raid.

Prompto takes his time at the fountain, as he isn’t sure what awaits him, and then heads for the training grounds. He opens the door with a kind of masked confidence because this is all still new sometimes.

Inside he is very confused by what he sees.

Gladio and Ignis are the only ones in the training room, and they aren’t wearing their training gear. Gladio is in a hoodie and sweatpants, and Ignis is the most dressed down Prompto’s seen aside from the morning of the attack, in slacks and a simple button up shirt.

They both look at him. Gladio’s grin is kinda terrifying, it’s so big.

“Uh, reporting…” Prompto is having a harder and harder time putting on the proper etiquette the more and more he is around Gladio and Ignis and Noct so casually.

“Here.” Gladio tosses Prompto a duffel bag he barely manages to catch in time.

“What’s this?”

Gladio looks at Ignis like today is the best day ever. Ignis sighs.

“We are training today.”

Prompto blinks. “Wait. We? As in. We?” Prompto gestures at the three of them with his free hand for emphasis.

“That’s right,” Gladio stretches his arms up over his head. “That bag has your gear, let’s go get you ready.”

“Ready—oh. Ya.” The purification. Prompto has heard about it some in passing conversation, and knows it takes a long ass time. He wonders, worries more like it, that they had to adjust the schedule for Prompto. But then again, they know they can call him early whenever. Not like he’s got much else to do.

He follows Gladio and Ignis as they turn away.

“We will do it with you so you can follow along,” Ignis explains as they walk through the double doors. They enter some sort of large space with rooms divided up within. There’s one room directly in front that looks to be storage and washing for towels and robes based on what he can see through the small window in the door. But otherwise it looks like it’s just a bunker of rooms.

Two priests appear before them, and it takes every effort for Prompto to not step back. Their presence is intimidating, first because of the role they have in ensuring the purity of Noctis, and second because of their official attire. Their black robes give zero sense of shape, with long sleeves going way past their hands. Their headpieces make them taller than Gladio and obscure their faces. These priests are the ones who oversee any rituals of the royal family, so they are expected to be as pure as possible to earn their place.

Prompto tries not to think about Noctis. Or Ignis. What if the priests can read minds?

The priests give a small bow before they turn and lead them to the first room on the right. Stepping inside it’s like they’ve suddenly been transported to somewhere in Duscae, maybe the mountains. The walls are just boulders, huge and sweeping with dark tangles of moss all over it. The room isn’t hot, but it does feel humid, and considering what Prompto is wearing he definitely feels it.

“Holy shit.”

Ignis turns and gives him that look of _what did you say_ and Prompto snaps his mouth shut. There is a small cabinet against the wall immediately to their left; Ignis and Gladio head to it. In each section there is a stack of black clothing and what looks like white bandages. Prompto goes to the one they didn't stand in front of.

“Those are the ceremonial pieces you wear for the purification,” Ignis speaks softly. Behind them, the two priests stand quietly waiting.

Prompto nods. He stands a little uneasy as he sets the duffel bag down. He squeezes his right wrist. He doesn’t have his bracelets on or with him because he never usually thinks about it, never needed them when his uniform included a long-sleeve shirt and jacket.

“Prompto?”

When he looks to Ignis, he sees that he has already changed out of his workout gear and into the ceremonial clothes, as has Gladio. They are similar to what the priests wear as far as color and long sleeves, but are instead a set of simple stiff pants and a long-sleeved tunic.

Prompto almost lets out an audible sigh of relief at the sight of the long sleeves. Then he sees Gladio rolling the cloth up his arms and Prompto holds his breath. Gladio picks up one of the bandages and begins to wrap it around his bare arm, from wrist bone to elbow, and then does the same to the other arm.

“The ribbons go around the arms and lower legs,” Ignis explains, “and help amplify the purification as those are the points most likely to touch His Highness.”

Prompto at first is thrown for Ignis to refer to Noctis so formally, but then he remembers the priests who are waiting against one wall.

Ignis continues. “Once you’re ready, we will undergo the preparation for the purification here. Then we will be led to another room for the ritual. You will not need to worry about prayers; the priests will speak on our behalf to the Astrals.”

Prompto has so many questions he wants to ask, but the two priests kinda creep him out, so he just nods and turns his back to Gladio and Ignis, who move away towards the priests. Carefully Prompto removes his gloves, then his boots. Then his necklace. His jacket. He folds everything into a cubby and risks a look behind him. Ignis and Gladio have their backs to him still.

“Any day now, Blondie,” Gladio chides, but there is a chuckle under it.

“Y-yes sir.” Prompto is very grateful for Gladio because he helps him feel a little less nervous about fucking something up.

He quickly gets completely undressed—the barcode is glaring against his skin in the lighting of the room. He gets the pants on but first goes about wrapping his arms with the ribbons, then rolls the pant legs up to wrap his shins.

Even with the tattoo now covered, Prompto still feels like he’s about to get caught.

Prompto’s heartbeat starts to slow once he gets the tunic on. It’s a stiff material and shapeless on his smaller frame compared to Gladio. He drapes it over his head, adjusts the shoulders a little.

The priests both motion for Prompto to step closer, and he’s pretty sure this is how some horror movies start.

He joins them though, because Ignis and Gladio are there and he can’t fuck this up. He really can’t.

The priests have large bowls in front of them, full of what looks like salt. Prompto really wishes he had asked more questions before stepping into this room.

Gladio and Ignis bring their hands together in prayer like at the shrine, so Prompto follows suit.

The priests begin to chant in a language Prompto can only identify as _old_. It sounds like the ancient language of Eos, but his knowledge of that is literally based on video games and some history classes. But he's glad he doesn't have to speak or repeat anything

In between verses, the priests take handfuls of the salt in both their hands. One goes to Gladio, and the other to Ignis, and takes their hands—they start rubbing the salt over the bandages and continue chanting, while Ignis and Gladio stand perfectly still, eyes closed.

Gladio is probably saying this in his head, he’s done this so many times. That kinda makes Prompto’s head get fuzzy, that Gladio has to go through this _every time_. The dedication Gladio has to Noctis, to the belief in the Chosen King, is lightyears above Prompto’s.

The memories of holding hands, of nights hanging out shoulder to shoulder, laughing…

Prompto pushes his palms together tighter and thinks about something, anything but how much Gladio would fucking murder him.

The priests pause and get more salt, this time doing the same on the legs.

Another pause, more salt, and then they are on either side of Prompto. He isn't sure if he's supposed to close his eyes but really he can’t—he wants to see, _needs_ to see. The salt smells nothing like salt. It’s something floral, and reminds Prompto of what he always thought the rolling hills of Duscae might smell like in the spring.

The priest on his right massages salt over the hidden tattoo and Prompto forces, wills, his hand to stay relaxed. No one touches his wrist. Ever.

But he will need to get used to it. So he pushes past the anxiety welling up in his throat. They won’t know. They’re just priests. The gods won’t tell them, they let Prompto get away with touching Noctis.

After moving on to his legs, the priests rise and step back, then walk towards the doors. Gladio is the one who finally looks at Prompto and gives a reassuring nod, which Prompto returns. They follow the priests out of the room, down the hall, and into another room. This one also looks like it’s just built around large boulders, but this time there is a waterfall in the corner.

It’s clear this is The Purification Room. The ceiling has rows of string with black ribbons tied around it the entire length of the room. There are candles in the other three corners and incense burning as well. There’s another priest standing with a large round incense burner hanging on the end of a long chain, who immediately circles them as another closes the doors and there’s the sound of locking.

The smoke becomes thick around them. Prompto follows Ignis and Gladio as they continue walking to the waterfall.

After two more circles from the priest with the incense, Prompto takes in a deep breath to calm his nerves. There are now six priests in front of them. The incense continues swinging behind them, the click of the chain barely heard over the sound of the waterfall. It's not a big waterfall, but it’s definitely not just a trickle of water between rocks.

Prompto has zero clue what the hell is going to happen next.

He can’t of course see the expressions of the priests as they stand in front of the three of them, then step forward—towards Prompto. He has a split second where he almost pulls away. He had hoped either the same thing would happen all at once or the others would go first. He doesn't know what he’s supposed to do—

But he has no chance to try to argue as they pull him forward and as a group lead him to the water. They aren’t forceful, but they also aren’t gentle, as they lead Prompto to stand under the waterfall.

It’s ice cold. He lets out one small sound of shock and then squeezes his eyes and mouth shut. He feels the priests sliding their hands along the bandages, chanting again in the old language. They’re removing the salt that was put on him.

Prompto worries they will take off the bandages. He hadn’t thought of that at all. He snaps his eyes open so he can see, can try to catch if they are going that direction. They are still chanting as they move Prompto in a small circle where he stands so that the water hits every bit of his body, then they all clap their hands together in prayer and bow. Prompto stands very still and focuses on the rocks, on the water, on the sound.

They lift their heads and pull Prompto away, guiding him to the opposite wall of the room. The one with the incense stands between him and the others, as they continue the process with Ignis and Gladio.

Prompto feels like he is catching on—the incense is probably meant to keep anything that could be impure away from them, especially after going through the process.

After Ignis and Gladio are finished, they join Prompto, and the priests walk around them a few more times, chanting and creating a ring of incense around them. He has no idea how much time has passed now, but it feels like hours and yet also no time at all.

He’s soaked to the bone though and he assumes that this is it. When they are led out of the room though instead of turning left, back towards where they came from, they go right. Prompto is really kinda amazed at the size of this place and the amount of space that has been dedicated to purifying people just to stand on the same training field as Noctis.

He pushes back the guilt. He clenches his hands into fists. Ignis and Gladio are ahead of him, and the priests all keep distance while maintaining a circle around them.

Doors open to another room filled with _more_ priests, and okay, Prompto has never seen so many ever in his life in one place. Heat rolls out and hits what bare skin there is, and he almost feels like it instantly dries him off and then douses him more in the same second.

It’s clearly a sauna, but the way the room is set up is similar to the other two—not rigid architecture, but something more natural. This room has strange looking rocks with glints of blue crystal strikingly sticking out.

Prompto may not be the most educated fellow in the room but another piece of the puzzle falls into place.

The salt. The water. Heat—fire. Weirdly enough his brain conjures the lines drilled into him when he was young in school.

_Titan, the Archaean, steadfast as stone._

_Ramuh, the Fulgurian, sharp as lightning._

_Shiva, the Glacian, gentle as snow._

_Leviathan, the Hydraean, relentless as tides._

_Bahamut, the Draconian, unbending as iron._

_Ifrit, the Infernian, fickle as fire._

_Since time immemorial, they have watched over Eos._

The rituals take parts from some of the Astrals themselves, or at least the elements that they have come to represent. At least, that’s how it looks. He makes a mental note to ask Ignis later.

The door closes and the room goes dark, but within seconds the same blue crystals as before glow bright enough Prompto can make out everyone, cast in the soft hue. They all stand in a circle, and the priests sit. Ignis and Gladio do too, so Prompto follows.

It’s silent except for something like crackling wood over a fire. It's hot. Prompto isn't sure if he’s sweating now or still drenched in water. Both probably.

There’s some sounds, like low bells, wind chimes, and low chanting. More incense wraps around them. Prompto has zero clue what he is supposed to do.

He takes a deep breath, low in his stomach, and breathes out long. He closes his eyes and tries to just. Exist. To sit and listen and breathe. In and out. In and out.

Once he finds a rhythm it’s surprisingly...nice. Prompto keeps focusing on his breath and not thinking of much else, which is a big achievement for him.

After some time, the chanting stops. Prompto opens his eyes and feels heavy. But everyone rises, so he follows. He is exhausted, and they _still_ have to train with Noctis. How Gladio has the stamina to do this is beyond him.

Out the room again, they finally head back towards the entrance, the same priest leading them with the incenses guiding them.

They go into a room of showers.

Prompto didn’t realize he had stopped until a priest kindly nudges his back. He looks behind him, then ahead. He can’t panic yet, so far he’s been able to manage. This room is normal—plain walls, lights. So Prompto assumes this is the last step before they go back to the room to change into their workout clothes.

But it’s also communal showers. The faucets are in the ceiling, which mimics rainfall as the priests go and turn them on. They line the right wall, and on the left are small woven baskets.

Gladio and Ignis take off their clothes and drop them in the basket, but leave the ribbons on.

Prompto has had his share of being around others while showering—that was the norm with training.

But in training, he could always wear something around his wrist without any questions. The priests are clearly getting impatient with him as politely as they can because another one tugs him forward. Prompto pulls the tunic up over his head and drops it in his basket. He stares down and looks out the corner of his eye at Gladio and Ignis.

The priests are unraveling the ribbons.

Once that is done, the priests carry the ribbons away. Another set of priests move in front of Ignis and Gladio and massage oil into their skin where the ribbons had been. The room quickly smells sharply of herbs Prompto can’t name, even if he knew them, because Prompto is pretty sure he’s about to pass out.

All his hard work. Everything he had done. It was all about to get undone by this ritual that maybe didn’t even _mean_ anything because Ignis and Prompto touched Noctis anyways and—

He’s hyperventilating. He can’t stop it. There’s a pressure building up behind his sternum that’s making it harder and harder to catch his breath.

Ignis and Gladio are watching. The priests circle around him. Prompto’s panic grows.

“The oils,” Prompto manages to say because it’s the only thing he can think to use as an excuse as he waves his arms towards the priests holding the bottles. “I-I can’t breathe.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and braces for them to kick him out the door. But he would rather that happen than lose everything because of his stupid past. Hands curl around his forearms and he’s being led somewhere, and when he opens his eyes, it’s not out the door that leads to the hallway.

One priest is leading him to a door in the corner of the room. He risks a glance behind him and swears all the other priests are _staring_ but he can’t tell because of those stupid headpieces. He takes another large gulp of air as he’s ushered through the door.

The priest goes in with Prompto and shuts the door behind them. They flick a switch and ceiling lights flood the room.

It’s the most normal room he’s seen since walking into the training hall.

“I’m sorry,” Prompto wheezes, “I’m sorry, am I in trouble? I swear I can. Get it together. Just don’t—please don’t kick me out.” He doesn't know if he can, but maybe he can buy himself some time to at least figure out how to avoid this in the future. If there is a future.

His breathing finally calms, and he realizes that the priest hasn’t moved from standing in front of the closed door. He looks up—he can’t tell their expression.

“Stray not from this path,” the priest says. It’s the voice of a woman, soft and soothing, “by the will of the Oracle and the grace of the gods, the Chosen King rises.”

Prompto grips his wrist, fingers dragging along the ribbons. “What?”

The priest pulls bottles like the others had from her sleeve and sets them on the small cabinet in the corner.

“Remove the ribbons, and then apply the oils to the skin.”

Prompto stares. “Don’t you…?”

“It does not matter who applies the oils, in the end it is most important that you are purified before meeting the Chosen King.”

She gestures to the oils and then turns, but doesn’t leave, just facing the door. It’s to give him privacy, he realizes.

Prompto forces his body to move, and he quickly takes off his pants and unravels the ribbons. He finally rubs the oils over his arms and legs. A quick glance around the room and he realizes it’s more of a supply room than anything else, so there isn’t anywhere for him to rinse off the oils like he would have done in the showers.

“Do I need to uh, wash off?”

“You have been consecrated. The purification is complete.”

Clearly he isn’t good at religious speak because he doesn’t know if that’s a yes or not, so he decides to go with _not_. “Oh, cool—I mean, thanks?”

There’s a pile of folded tunics and pants on the cabinet, which he digs through until he finds ones that seem his size and puts them on. The long sleeves make him feel like he can breathe a little more.

“I uh,” Prompto clears his throat, “I’m ready.”

She nods, then opens the door without turning to look at him. He follows her and tries to act like his heart isn’t racing.

The room is cleared out, and Prompto clenches his hands into tight fists to not overthink this. He’s led to the first room, where Ignis and Gladio are both nearly dressed. They look at him with concern, which makes Prompto feel even worse.

“You okay?” Gladio pauses, shirtless, and there isn't anger in his voice. It sounds like genuine worry.

“Ya, sorry. Just. Not used to all these fancy oils.”

Ignis is adjusting the sleeves of his training shirt. “It’s good for us to know. We can ensure there are adjustments made for you in the future.”

“Thanks, Ignis.” Prompto says his name casually and freezes, but neither of them even seem to notice as they finish getting ready.

“We will meet you on the grounds,” Ignis says as he passes Prompto. “Don’t forget to drink your water.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once the door is closed Prompto nearly collapses to the ground. He did it, made it through this whole thing and somehow didn’t fuck everything up despite the close calls. He moves to quickly get into his training clothes. They appear identical to what Ignis and Gladio are wearing, but the fit is stretchy and it's pretty comfortable, surprisingly. He isn’t used to being decked out so much for training, either. He’s in long-legged workout pants, a shirt not unlike the one he usually has to wear, and flexible shoes and gloves. Despite how tight the material is, it feels sturdy.

As he pulls the sleeves down, he studies the barcode again.

He covers it and closes his eyes. The priest’s words echo in his mind now that he has a moment where he is actually able to think about them. He thinks about prophecies and rituals and wonders if the priest was just saying whatever she could to help him, or if she knew something.

Once dressed, Prompto grabs the water bottle and shoves his uniform in the duffle bag. He chugs the water to make up for all the sweating he did and gets out of there.

A new kind of nervousness settles in his brain.

Noctis is there on the training grounds. When he looks over to Prompto, he smiles wide and waves.

Prompto laughs and waves back. “You weren’t kidding.” He drops the bag to the ground next to the others and lets himself show just a bit of how stressed he is. “That was really intense.”

Noctis hesitates for a beat. “Ya, sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Prompto backpedals. “It's all part of the gig, right?”

“Come, we need to get to it.”

“So what are we doing?”

Gladio and Ignis walk across the room to a wall of training weapons. Gladio grabs the large wooden broadsword Prompto saw the first time he visited them on training grounds. Ignis takes a long pole, which Prompto assumes is meant to stand in for a lance.

Prompto heads for the weapons as well. There are some Glaives hanging out on the edges to watch. Noctis and his Shield and Advisor all training is probably a rare sight. He tries not to think about making a fool of himself.

Gladio points Prompto towards a couple of guns that look like rifles. “You’ll be on those.”

Prompto freezes. “Guns?” He’s used guns before in training, but that was always in a very specific setting, where everyone wore the right kind of armor and the ammo were blanks.

Gladio smirks. “Don’t worry, it’s just paint.”

At that Prompto steps forward and picks one of the rifles up. They look almost like the real deal, but they are light in his hands and have a small container that clearly holds the paint cartridges attached. Thank the gods. The last thing Prompto needs is to accidentally shoot someone like, oh, the _Prince_. Prompto grabs the harnesses and belts and quickly gets one around his waist and another strapped on his back. There’s also a pair of handguns, which he drops in the holsters and he situates two rifles crossed on his back, and he takes another pair of handguns for good measure.

If this were a paintball match, he’d fucking rock it.

There are goggles on the table, which Prompto tosses to each of them and puts on himself.

“This isn’t about causing injury or getting a ‘kill.’” Ignis spins the polearm in front of him. “Today you will be teamed up with His Highness, against myself and Gladio.”

The guns nearly slip from Prompto’s hands. “What?”

Ignis and Gladio move towards the center of the grounds. Prompto follows and heads to Noctis. “You can’t be serious.”

“We are, in fact, serious.” Ignis cracks his neck. “Rules are thus: two versus two, warping and phasing allowed but no magic. We have ten minutes to land a hit on Noctis.”

Prompto reflexively steps in front of Noctis. “No fucking way!”

“Language, Argentum.” But there is a smile playing across Ignis’s lips as he sets his watch.

And just like that the energy shifts as Noctis warps _towards_ Ignis and Gladio.

“Hey!” Prompto shouts and charges forward as Noctis goes to strike Gladio. Ignis is immediately in Noct’s blind spot.

Prompto aims for Ignis’s arm and lands it in a splash of yellow, sending Ignis’s strike wide. Gladio blocks Noct, who warps back to Prompto before Gladio can get a hit in.

“Don’t run off like that!” Prompto shouts and takes aim at Gladio—

Right as Gladio’s sword flies towards them.

“Shit!” Prompto drops and Noctis dodges, only a soft blue outline left behind. Prompto rolls as Gladio warps to his sword, and he sits up to shoot at Gladio, getting a few hits on his chest and arm as he takes a swing. The sword misses Prompto by a hair as he flattens to the ground, but then Gladio pivots to slam his sword down and send a shockwave that trips Prompto as he tries to get back onto his feet. Prompto stumbles and barely keeps from landing face first in the dirt.

He thinks he can hear people shouting, but he ignores them, focusing on Noctis, who just warped to the other side of the space. Prompto chances a quick look over his shoulder to confirm Gladio’s position before running. His two guns are out of cartridges, so he drops them to the ground and pulls out one of the rifles.

Prompto feels very much left out that the others can all warp and he can’t. But he has to make do, because in battle fights are never usually fair at all. Prompto takes a few more shots at Gladio as he runs before the Shield warps out of view.

“Shit!” Prompto slides next to Noctis, right as Ignis appears in front of them both. Ignis thrusts the polearm forward, and Prompto lunges in front of Noctis to use the rifle to block the strike. Ignis smirks, and then _backflips_ away from Noct as he leaps forward.

Prompto can’t help but stare for half a beat. But then Ignis presses forward and Noctis warps away, leaving Prompto to take a few more shots at Ignis. The rifle has more ammo, thankfully, so Prompto tries to slow Ignis down by trying to hit the polearm out of his hands. Just as he’s about to turn and run though, Ignis phases closer and with a quick spin knocks the rifle away from Prompto.

He’s down to three guns now. Which should feel like a lot, but he starts to panic as he dodges another strike. As he reaches for the guns in his holsters though, Ignis hits Prompto square in the chest.

It means nothing as far as the match is concerned, but it does send him backwards onto the ground. So the move does its job of slowing Prompto down.

Prompto rolls back up in time for Gladio to appear. Prompto barely dodges another strike that rattles the ground. When he looks over Gladio’s sword, he sees Noct dodging Ignis’s long thrusts with phasing.

Prompto doesn’t know too much about warping since he can’t do it himself, but he knows it is a finite ability with limited energy.

Gladio and Ignis are deliberately working to make Noctis deplete his energy quickly.

Prompto aims high and hits Gladio’s goggles, sending paint all over them and blocking his vision.

“Noct! To me!” He turns and runs, watching over his shoulder as Gladio pulls himself together. Noctis vanishes, then appears beside Prompto. He’s breathing heavily and stumbles.

“You good?” Prompto leans close but makes sure to leave some space between them. Noctis nods.

Something flashes in the distance.

“Right!” Prompto shouts. Noctis warps behind Gladio, but Gladio spins and parries, and Ignis does something out of a circus act to fly through the air behind Noct.

Prompto finally manages to get Ignis to drop the polearm with a hit on his forearm. He has little time to celebrate though because

there’s another flash of blue, but it isn't Noct—it’s Ignis flying right for Prompto.

“Shit!” Prompto runs _at_ Ignis and slides under the pole as it strikes the ground. Prompto spins and fires, clipping Ignis in the shoulder.

Ignis curses, and the look he gives Prompto when he turns back isn’t anger—he looks fucking happy.

Prompto can’t dwell on it, though, because Ignis immediately comes for him again. This time he moves so quickly all Prompto can do is dodge because he thinks he will just waste ammo if he tries to land a hit.

Prompto hasn’t been watching Noctis. Again. He’s behind Ignis, parrying Gladio.

“Noct!” he shouts. “Warp up!”

Gladio swings as Noctis vanishes, going up one of the pillars. Prompto dives and rolls away from Ignis and takes a few shots at Gladio while Noctis hopefully catches his breath.

When Noctis warps back down, he lands beside Prompto. It’s clear he’s warped to exhaustion at this point; Prompto can see it in how he holds his sword and the way he takes deep breaths.

“Stay behind me!” Prompto shouts. Even though this is training, something in his gut screams at him that _this is important_. Prompto saw this exhaustion in Glaives when they were warp training, and he knows it takes a few minutes to get back into it. And sometimes in battle you don't have a few minutes.

Prompto is very aware of how close they are as they stand back to back, and he weighs his options. Ignis and Gladio are crouching down to attack again and he just hopes maybe they are also in stasis.

“Switch me!” Prompto leaps in front of Noctis, who doesn't even question as Prompto tosses the handgun and Noctis does the same with his sword. It’s not Prompto’s favorite weapon, but Noctis _cannot_ get close to the others right now. Prompto dashes forward to buy Noct some time, and Gladio charges to meet him.

The first time their swords clash Prompto falls to his knees with the unexpected force of Gladio.

“Prompto!” he hears Noct shout.

“Stay back!” Prompto manages to push away from Gladio but not enough to avoid a hit across his back that knocks the wind out of him.

He stumbles and then Noctis lands several hits on Gladio’s shoulder that makes him drop his weapon, followed by a couple of choice curse words.

Taking advantage of the moment, Prompto runs back to Noctis, who drops the empty guns and takes back his sword. They’re both smiling. He wishes he could give Noct a high five or something.

Prompto pulls his last gun, the rifle, and aims at Gladio. They are fucking doing it, and he’s proud considering he’s never fought with Noctis before and—

There’s a flash of blue, and then Ignis is there, not beside Prompto, but Noctis, and he’s swapped his lance for daggers and—

“Down!” Prompto sweeps his foot to knock Noctis on his ass right as Ignis lunges forward—

Prompto’s vision whites as pain blossoms from his nose. He stumbles to the ground and struggles to open his eyes.

He’s pretty sure his nose is actually broken. On his first day of training with Noctis. Fucking great.

“Prompto!” Ignis sounds alarmed.

“I can keep going!” Prompto says even as he feels the warm gush of blood running from his nose. “I can’t let this slow me down.”

“Shut up,” Noctis says softly. “It's just training.” His hands are floating so close to Prompto’s face. “Specs, Gladio, potion.”

“Ya, here.” Gladio crouches in front of Prompto and immediately shoves a potion against Prompto’s chest. Prompto takes a deep breath as the pain vanishes.

“Are you okay?” The worry in Noct’s voice sends guilt through Prompto’s core.

“Ya, ya. Sorry, guess I messed that up. I-I should have kept going.”

An alarm beeps loudly, and Ignis checks his watch. “Quite the opposite. You did your job. You kept His Highness safe.”

Prompto blinks.

“Ya, you did good.” Gladio claps him on the back. “Especially for your first time.”

Gladio looks at Ignis, grinning. Ignis laughs under his breath. Noctis looks like he’s going to burst with excitement.

The coil in Prompto’s chest loosens.

“Can we go again?” Prompto grabs his last gun and gives it a twirl. “Especially now that I know you have more weapons hidden in your stash, Ignis.”

“I told you daggers are my primary. Of course I would have training versions.” Ignis’s tone isn't reprimanding though.

“Keeping me on my toes, I see.”

“Luring you into a false sense of security, perhaps.”

Prompto laughs a little.

Gladio is studying him hard. “You really wanna go again?”

Prompto shrugs. “I mean, I'm good now right? I didn't spend 84 years getting purified for just one fight.”

When Noctis smiles wider, which Prompto didn't think was possible, he isn't looking at Prompto. Instead he’s looking at Ignis and Gladio.

  
“I’m game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!! And thanks again, [Mort!](https://linktr.ee/LeSoldatMort) , for the amazing art!! They really brought the look and feel of this process to light
> 
> Some references: 
> 
> \- Purification Ritual Outfits were inspired by designs from [Gareth Pugh](https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/designer/gareth-pugh)
> 
> \- Purification Ritual was inspired by the [ Shinto Harae Ritual ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harae)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Me, too,” Noctis mumbles and shifts closer. He lets go of Ignis’s hand in favor of throwing his arm across Ignis’s knees and pressing his forehead to the outside of Ignis’s thigh, as if he were hugging Ignis’s legs.
> 
> It is achingly sweet. Ignis closes his eyes to steel himself against his own heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jkhjkfhg TYSM everyone for your sweet and kind words about the ritual and fight scene last chapter. I went off like I was possessed writing the purification process, and Audrey is so amazing because she went through it all with me and helped make sure it all made sense [because if you've seen my first drafts you can probably guess the mess] 
> 
> Art for this chapter is thanks to [HisGlasses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisGlasses)!!

A summons from the king isn’t entirely out of the ordinary for Ignis. As Noct’s chamberlain, there are occasions where Regis has reason to speak to Ignis. It is not uncommon when Regis and Noctis are going through an extended rough patch.

But the fact that the summons is delivered a mere minutes before the appointed time, rather than scheduled days in advance, and that Ignis is supposed to go to Regis’s quarters instead of his office would be alarming if he, Gladio, and Noctis hadn’t started their own strategy a week ago.

Ignis accepts the summons and thanks the messenger, who hurries away. Today is supposed to be Noct’s day off from official schedules, the first since the fall of Tenebrae, so Noctis is making phoenix downs. Unlike potions or other common curatives, phoenix downs are incredibly draining and always in short supply. Noctis doesn’t make them often since they more or less make him useless for the rest of the day, but now is the time to stock up on them while Niflheim is busy stamping out dissent in Tenebrae.

“Better not keep Dad waiting,” Noctis says. His eyes are closed, and a phoenix feather rests upon his upturned palms.

“Go, Iggy,” Gladio says. “You’ll do fine.”

“Of course. Make sure Noct gets lunch before he crashes.”

Gladio waves him on with a mutter _yeah, yeah,_ and Ignis exits the room. He sweeps past Khara—and the trainee Noctis already rejected but who needs to finish out the week for appearance’s sake—and heads for the higher levels of the Citadel.

(Knowing that this summons is the expected response to the actions they’ve taken still can’t entirely quell the fear that rises up in Ignis’s heart. How many of his own nightmares have started this way and ended with him being thrown out of the Citadel for deliberately defiling the Chosen King?

Regis simply wants to speak with Ignis privately, and a free slot has unexpectedly occurred today. No one has found him out. No one has found Prompto out. It will be all right. It _is_ all right.)

It is still unexpected to see Clarus lurking outside the king’s quarters with the Kingsglaive rather than being inside with Regis. Ignis has never had a true one-on-one with Regis; Clarus was always there, standing politely nearby as the King’s Shield. It seems that he will not be today.

Ignis offers a polite salute. “Lord Amicitia.”

“Ignis,” Clarus says, which is both an acknowledgment and a hint as to the tone for Ignis’s meeting with the king. This is to be an informal meeting, then, rather than one that would require Ignis to carry his title into the room beyond. “You’re expected in the receiving room.”

Clarus knocks on the king’s door in warning and then opens it for Ignis. Ignis keeps his head high, shoulders down, and strides inside.

Regis’s quarters are similar to Noct’s, just on a grander scale. Ignis has only been inside them a few times; the last being when Regis collapsed while swearing in the Kingsglaive. He is familiar enough with them to find the receiving room and the king immediately.

Regis is dressed down to his pinstripe suit rather than wearing his full regalia. He is sitting in a leather armchair, at the head of a coffee table. The coffee table isn’t empty; there is a beautiful crystal decanter filled with amber-gold alcohol, two lowball glasses, and a small bucket of ice cubes with a matching set of metal tongs.

It takes some effort not to give away his surprise. There’s nothing Ignis can do about the uptick of his heartbeat, but Ignis sweeps into a low bow anyway. “Your Majesty.”

“Ignis,” Regis says. His voice isn’t cold, but it is distant, polite. He doesn’t tell Ignis to address him by name. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Ignis takes a seat on the couch perpendicular to Regis’s seat.

Once Ignis is seated, Regis leans forward and pours himself a generous amount of alcohol in one of the glasses. “How do you take your whisky?”

Ignis hasn’t seen Regis drink before, at least not outside a formal event or meal, and it isn’t even noon. But if the king is drinking, then Ignis has little space to refuse. He could turn Regis down, but the drink itself and the implicit offer that Regis himself will pour is a signal of sorts, a deliberate setting of mood. And Ignis isn’t certain he wants to break that.

“With ice, please.”

Regis uses the tongs to deposit a large, square ice cube into the second glass and then pours an equal amount of whiskey into it. Or roughly so; the displacement from the ice cube makes it difficult to judge. Ignis takes the glass with both hands and a murmured thanks and waits until Regis takes his first sip to try his own glass.

Ignis isn’t typically a whisky drinker, but the alcohol’s quality is evident from that first taste. He resists the urge to focus on the complexities of the flavor and keeps his attention on the king. If he is to be drinking on an empty stomach, he will need to keep his wits about him.

“Has there been any further word from Lady Lunafreya?”

“No, Your Majesty. The last we had contact with her was when Umbra delivered the message that she was safe. Has Captain Drautos heard anything from the search teams?”

Umbra had _seemed_ to agree with their request to lead Lunafreya to Ulric or Ostium, but there truly is no way of knowing whether or not the Messenger actually carried it out.

“Unfortunately not, nor have we had any sightings of Lord Ravus.”

Ravus is even further out of their reach than Lunafreya is. Perhaps permanently, what with an entire ocean between him and potential safety.

Ignis keeps his tone careful. “What do you think has become of him?”

“I fear his wounds were fatal.” Regis lingers over his glass for a moment and Ignis buries his own dismay at hearing his own concern voiced aloud. “And that the Tenebraen resistance has hidden his death in order not to further demoralize the populace.”

It is what he would advise, were Ignis in a position to make such decisions. Ignis takes a long drink.

“How is Noctis?” Regis asks, and Ignis is more than ready to follow the subject change. “I understand he is spending more time in the infirmary.”

“He’s there now, or just left it,” Ignis says. “His Highness is eager to do what he can for the war effort. He is creating phoenix downs this morning, since the rest of his day is free and he can recuperate.”

Regis doesn’t respond immediately, and Ignis decides to take a small chance, “Has Noctis been a difficult conversation partner lately?”

Noctis said his two meals with his father had gone well and that he’d even managed to work in references to Prompto. But this wouldn’t be the first time Noctis and Regis had different standards on something, and Noctis isn’t exactly verbose.

Rather than answering, the king says, “Thank you, Ignis.”

“Sir?”

“I know that Noctis has been difficult as of late,” Regis says quietly. “I’ve always appreciated your patience with him and how you’ve handled his—contrariness.”

Regis’s gratitude burns worse than the whisky, and Ignis looks down at his glass. The praise is largely unwarranted, and Regis surely would not be praising Ignis if he knew the precise shading of the difficulties between Ignis and Noctis.

“Your Majesty,” Ignis starts. He hesitates, looks back up, and tries again. “Even without the prophecy and my role in it, I would be at Noctis’s side.”

It’s a painfully simple declaration, void of his customary eloquence, and Ignis cannot help but be a little embarrassed by it when Regis gives him a knowing half-smile.

“I do not doubt it,” Regis says . “Particularly not after the spectacle you and Gladio engineered.”

Ignis does not tense, nor does he smile back, though both impulses follow in quick succession. “Sir?”

Regis takes another drink and settles back in his armchair. “Since the training exercise excluded elemental magic, you could have held it indoors, but you changed the venue to the outside training grounds to attract an audience. If you had intended it to be a showcase of my son’s prowess as a morale boost, you wouldn’t have forbidden him or yourself from accessing elemental magic. The exercise was designed to showcase something else, not Noctis. I trust neither you nor Gladio went easy on them?”

“Of course not.” Ignis still feels a small sting of guilt whenever he remembers breaking Prompto’s nose, even if Prompto recovered admirably. But the more pressing issue is— “Were we that transparent?”

He could feign ignorance at this point, but that would only embarrass him further. Ignis would rather preserve what dignity remains.

Regis does not laugh into his whisky, which is kind of him. “Only in the aftermath. Gladio speaking to Clarus and Noctis to me about Mr. Argentum—both followed too quickly to be coincidence.”

“Your Majesty—” Ignis sets his glass down on the coffee table and does his best seated bow. “Forgive me. Despite the attempted deception, we were sincere in our purpose.”

“Which was?”

Ignis takes a steadying breath and keeps his head down. “To convince you that His Highness’s belief that Crownsguard Argentum could be his third Swordsworn is genuine, and not simply a ploy to allow His Highness out of Insomnia to begin collecting the Royal Arms because of the recent developments in the war.”

The silence that follows afterwards is still enough that Ignis hopes that the king cannot hear the heavy beat of his heart.

“The third,” Regis says eventually. He sounds thoughtful, and Ignis risks a glance up. “‘ _And he is as of the grains of sand in the desert,_ ’” the king recites. “‘ _Sanctified not by the Six but by the selection.’”_

“His Highness has entertained the possibility that Argentum is his third for some time now,” Ignis says. “But Argentum has been corresponding with Lady Lunafreya, and it is she who put him on his path to joining the Crownsguard.”

Regis motions for Ignis to straighten up, and Ignis, relieved, does. “And the Oracle family line is often described as the word or the voice of the Astrals.”

Ignis nods. “That was His Highness’s reasoning. In his last correspondence with Lady Lunafreya, he asked if her request of Argentum removed him from consideration.”

Something in the king’s expression shifts, his gaze gone elsewhere. He’s quiet for several heartbeats before he refocuses on their conversation. “A wise precaution, though I do not think it was necessary. Mr. Argentum’s selection was not made by Lady Lunafreya.”

That is not a response that Ignis expected to hear. How can Regis be so certain of that? “Sir?”

“Tell me about this Argentum.”

Ignis swallows down his own curiosity. Why would Regis consider the clarification about Prompto’s selection unnecessary? But if the king does not wish to share his own thoughts, Ignis cannot compel him to do so.

“Argentum is an excellent marksman,” Ignis begins, “who can think quickly on his feet and has good instincts when it comes to protecting His Highness. He takes the purification rituals—”

Regis makes a dismissive motion. “I’ve heard as much from Clarus, presumably via Gladio and the reports on the training exercise. What is Argentum _like_?”

“Sincere,” is the first word that comes to Ignis’s mind. “He always dedicates himself to the conversation or situation at hand, and eagerly. Argentum is often unpolished and overly cautious, but he has a genuine warmth about him that draws people to him, including His Highness. Despite the difference in their status, Argentum and His Highness have become close friends.”

“How so?”

“They’ve largely bonded through video games, and Argentum’s photography.” Ignis hesitates, then adds, “Argentum sends His Highness pictures from all over Insomnia. Small things, usually. Flocks of geese, street food vendors, stray cats, and the like. Images that show what life is like outside the Citadel.”

An emotion Ignis cannot name flickers across the king’s face.

“His Highness is very much at ease with him, and Argentum is learning to be the same. He is better at it when he forgets that Gladio or I are nearby. Even if Lady Lunafreya says that Argentum is not the third, I believe His Highness will ask me to submit a request to add Argentum to his retinue anyway.”

Regis takes a long drink. And rather than provide his thoughts on that matter, he simply asks, “Is it true? That Argentum makes my son laugh?”

The question makes Ignis’s heart ache, but he says, “Yes, he does. He’s quite good at it, truthfully.”

Regis finishes off his drink and does not move to pour himself another. Ignis picks up his own glass. It would be a waste not to finish the drink, though he will need to make sure he gets food after this.

“Ignis,” Regis says, “do you think that Argentum is the third Swordsworn?”

It is not a question lightly asked. “He does not contradict any of the details offered by the Cosmogony, so far as we know.”

“That is not what I asked.” It is mildly said, but it is clear that Regis won’t accept Ignis’s instinct to deflect, to not declare himself strongly on an uncertain venture.

Ignis glances down at his drink. “I hope so,” he says. “It would be too disappointing if he weren’t.”

Ignis purifies himself again at the shrine outside Noct’s quarters before Ateos and his trainee let Ignis inside. “His Highness is in his bedroom,” Ateos says. “Shield Amicitia put your portion of the lunch order into the fridge.”

“Did he stay?” Ignis swaps his shoes for slippers.

“No, sir. Lady Iris came to visit for a little while, and the two of them left when His Highness went to sleep. Shield Amicitia said they would be training if you need him.”

Gladio hasn’t been back home since Tenebrae fell, and neither has Clarus. It is only natural for Iris to swing by the Citadel to check on both her brother and her father after being separated for so long. She is mere months away from her eighteenth birthday and beginning the Crownsguard officers track, and Ignis knows she can already outfight the majority of the trainees, even without the brass knuckles she favors.

Ignis thanks Ateos for the update and heads for Noct’s bedroom. He knocks quietly, intending to retrieve his food if there is no answer, but the noise draws out a muffled, incoherent response. So Ignis opens the door carefully and peers inside.

Noctis is cocooned in his blankets in his semi-dark bedroom, but his head is lifted off the pillow and he’s squinting in Ignis’s direction. “Specs?” he mumbles.

“Apologies, Noct.” Ignis shuts the door behind him. “Did I wake you?”

Noctis flops back on the pillow and closes his eyes. “Wanna know what Dad said.” A hand snakes out of his blankets and motions Ignis closer.

“I think we need more practice scheming,” Ignis says lightly. He steps forward and doesn’t hesitate to reach out when Noctis curls his fingers. The fear, the worry, still burns inside him, of course, but it is becoming—less fraught to provide Noctis the affection he wants. At least when Ignis is wearing his gloves, it is easier to package those negative emotions away for another day. “His Majesty knew we were up to something right away.”

Noctis makes a face and tugs on Ignis’s hand. Ignis takes off his slippers and climbs on top of the bed, careful to keep his legs free from the tangle of blankets in case he needs to get up quickly. “Was he mad?”

“Amused, I think.” Ignis is quiet for a moment. “He asked about Prompto, and whether I thought he is your third. I told him I hoped so.”

“Me, too,” Noctis mumbles and shifts closer. He lets go of Ignis’s hand in favor of throwing his arm across Ignis’s knees and pressing his forehead to the outside of Ignis’s thigh, as if he were hugging Ignis’s legs.

It is achingly sweet. Ignis closes his eyes to steel himself against his own heart.

“Is this okay?” The edges of Noct’s voice are soft, and Ignis looks down at him.

Noctis looks—content. Peaceful. Already back on the brink of sleep.

“Of course,” Ignis says, and he cannot blame the next part entirely on the whisky when he’s daydreamed about it more than once. He drops his gloved hand to rest lightly on Noct’s head and very slowly strokes his hair. “Is this?”

“Yeah,” Noctis breathes. He hides his face against Ignis’s leg. “S’nice. Stay?”

The question twists deep into Ignis’s heart. “Just a little while. Until you fall asleep.”

[ ](artist%20link)

* * *

There's a weird undercurrent of restlessness humming in Prompto’s bones when he wakes up on his day off.

He goes for a run, showers, and eats a quick breakfast of his new favorite overnight oats recipe. He substitutes coffee with tea, but he finds that energy is still there.

After staring into his closet for minutes, he decides to throw on his training gear under a hoodie. He hasn't gone to a regular Crownsguard training session since starting in Noctis’ guard, mostly because of time. It isn't required, but after the session he had with Ignis, Gladio, and Noct, he thinks maybe he should really keep up on it more.

On the train he goes through his schedule to see where his free time can overlap with training. Unfortunately, the basic training hits in the afternoon, so Prompto hasn’t even had the option to drop in—which any guard can do. He appreciates that at least. So, he decides today will be the first time in months that he goes in—and it's only because he wasn’t entirely terrible in the session with Noctis that he feels like he won’t make a fool of himself despite his absence.

Prompto almost stops by a fountain out of habit, one that has been grounded into him for weeks and weeks. He shoves his hands—ungloved, which is also weird—into his hoodie pocket as he strides into the indoor training hall. There’s a mix of Glaives in, he can tell by their uniforms. The newbies are in Crownsguard issued black joggers and tight black tanks or shirts. The rest are dressed in their own workout clothes. Prompto is glad to see he isn’t alone in dropping by.

But what he did forget is that the afternoon training was often led by the one and only Cor Leonis.

The list of people in Prompto’s life he is legit terrified of had been pretty short until recently, and Cor had been on the top of that short list since day one of his training. Prompto pulls off his hoodie and drops it against the wall with his backpack in a corner and jogs over to where the group is gathering to get their practice weapons.

Today’s training is melee combat with kukris—wooden ones, of course. They aren’t Prompto’s favorite for a lot of reasons, but he intends to make an honest effort to focus more on the training and releasing some of the anxious energy still building up in him.

Prompto gives some quick greetings to a few folks who recognize him, but there isn't any time for chatter as Cor immediately starts shouting out drills once everyone has their kukris.

This training finally feels like the kind of drain Prompto needs. The session with Noctis and the others was exhausting, but also he couldn’t just zone out. He had to really pay attention and protect Noctis. That was more like out in the battlefield than a training exercise. Here, he can just listen to Cor as he shouts out the motions they are to go through, and his brain goes into something like autopilot.

At first they focus on drills, Cor counting out their movements as everyone moves in unison. Mostly. Prompto catches glimpses of some of the newer recruits having trouble keeping up. Prompto relates—when he had first started, he had been so scared he thought he would pass out his first day in training.

He had been just a punk kid. He respected people, and didn't break laws, but anxiety is also a bitch.

As Prompto flips the kukris to deliver his invisible opponent a lethal stab, he remembers the first time he tried this move and dropped the kukris. And again, and again and again. Now he does it with ease and moves onto the next form.

Even aside from getting into Noct’s guard, he realizes just how far he’s come.

After the drills, everyone is split into groups of two to practice combat. All the newbies of course get paired up with the Glaives, so Prompto works with a kid—he isn’t a kid, but he looks young—who is struggling with the kukris a bit. Prompto takes his time to show him some tricks and help him with his form, and then Cor blows a whistle to signal the end of training.

Prompto has worked up a pretty good sweat and some of the restlessness has finally left him. He shakes his sparring partner’s hand and adds his kukris to the growing pile at the front edge of the mats.

“Argentum,” Cor’s voice is loud over the hum of guards talking amongst themselves, “don’t go anywhere.”

“Sir yes sir,” Prompto’s reply is immediate and very much out of the habit drilled into him for four years. Cor doesn’t give any indication if he’s in trouble, or what, he just talks to other guards as they come up and ask him questions before they head into the showers.

On one hand, he appreciates Cor not chewing him out in front of everyone, but it's almost equally as embarrassing to have to stand at attention while everyone else can relax and get out of here. And it has the added downside of Prompto being able to concoct the million different reasons for why Cor has asked him to stay.

Was his form sloppy? Can Cor tell he hasn't been keeping up with training as much as he should? Did Ignis say something to him? Oh fuck, what if _Noctis_ said something. What if Cor knows everything and is about to kick him out—

“Argentum,” Cor’s voice is like a kick in the chest.

Prompto stumbles to a straighter attention, biting his cheek to keep from immediately offering apologies.

“You haven’t been to training since you started in the prince’s guard.”

Shit.

“No, sir.” He won’t offer any excuses. Prompto knows that sort of thing is pointless with the Marshal.

Cor nods, but he doesn't look like he normally does when he’s about to reprimand someone. “Considering that, you did pretty well against Scientia and Amicitia.”

That makes Prompto break decorum as he drops his hand from his heart. “You saw that?”

Cor laughs. Laughs, like it’s totally normal to witness Cor the Immortal laugh. “Course I did, everyone in the guard basically saw it. No one misses the chance to watch His Highness and his guards in action.”

 _His guards_ . Prompto swallows hard. “Thank you, sir.” He isn't sure what else to say really.

“In our basic training,” Cor continues. He's looking out over the training grounds instead of at Prompto. Cor has always been a bit bad at eye contact. “There isn't much practice with warping.”

Prompto isn't sure if Cor is asking or stating. So he just keeps his mouth shut.

“You did some practice last year against other Glaives though,”

He finally finds his voice at the obvious question. “Yes.”

Cor’s way of having a conversation is basically Prompto’s worst nightmare because Cor has zero emotion most of the time, which Prompto requires in order to not completely self-destruct when he is talking to anybody. He needs emotional cues like air.

“Your shift is now afternoon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a group of Glaives who practice in the evenings, doing warp work mostly.”

Ah, there it is. Prompto knows he was a mess in the fight the other day, his weakness immediately apparent to Cor. Gladio and Ignis were probably being polite since he technically manages his training through Cor.

“Only approved Glaives can join that session because it is intended to train soldiers for fighting alongside each other outside the Wall. When your fellow soldiers can warp, it creates an entirely different scenario you have to prepare for.”

He finally looks back to Prompto. “Considering your training, you did well protecting His Highness. But come to this training. You can do better.”

Prompto blinks.

“Let’s see how you do. Have you considered joining the Kingsglaive?”

Prompto is experiencing what can only be described as some kind of emotional whiplash or beating or something. The Kingsglaive are the highest honor, even higher than working with Noctis because well, the king and all. And Prompto is already kinda freaking out that he is even _there._ For Cor to suggest that he could potentially be a Kingsglaive is like some kind of fucking weird alternate dimension kinda stuff.

“I hadn’t given it much thought yet, sir.” It’s the most honest thing he can say because he _hasn’t_. At least, not for the current Kingsglaive.

If Noctis—when Noctis becomes King, and if he chooses Prompto, then ya, ya Prompto would do it. In a heartbeat. The weight of that feeling in his heart must translate to something in his face because Cor actually smiles.

“You should,” is all Cor says before he turns on his heel and walks out of the training room. It’s only when the door bangs shut that Prompto relaxes and runs his hands through his hair.

He doesn't even go to the showers because he doesn’t think he can do anything without shaking all over. He throws his hoodie back on and grabs his bag and bolts outside. The restless energy he had gotten rid of is back times ten, but hell if he is going to hang around the Citadel for much longer.

He decides to walk home—it’s about an hour but Prompto feels like he can stand to have the distraction. He will probably conk out as soon as he’s home and honestly that's about what he needs.

The sun is high over him and his hoodie was not the smartest, but he tries to ignore it as he walks, focusing instead on his phone and not running into people. Noctis isn't around since it's the afternoon, but he sends a few all caps messages that are mixes of gibberish keyboard smashes about his conversation with Cor.

The response he gets back does literally nothing for his nerves.

Noct: _Oh sweet. I just told Specs too, he says that means we can def do some more training sessions. Bet I could kick your ass._

Prompto: _THAT IS NOT WHAT I WANTED OUT OF THIS CONVERSATION_

He hardly remembers his walk by the time he’s home, texting with Noct basically the whole way.

By the time Prompto heads to his next shift, most of the nerves around his interaction with Cor have faded. Mostly. There’s that question still sitting in the front of his mind that keeps coming back to him—joining the Kingsglaive.

It would be the logical next step if Prompto were in this for the career. For the titles. For notoriety. But that's not what drives Prompto, not what’s been pushing him forward on this path for years and years. And he really doesn't know how to explain that to anyone.

Especially to Cor, Cor The Immortal Leonis, who’s lived his entire life for the crown, both of them so far.

Prompto would, though, live his life for the crown. But he wonders if it is somehow treasonous to prefer one crown over the other.

And counter argument, should he take it were he can get it? If the king approved Prompto to join, wouldn't that mean that like. He made it? Could he still protect Noctis?

The answer, Prompto decides as he walks up the steps of the Citadel, is of course no. He would have to choose, and Prompto knows who he would pick, time and time again. His loyalty, deep down, is to the Chosen King. No one else.

So would he be reprimanded if he turned down working with the Kingsglaive under King Regis?

He stops that line of thinking as he claps his hands together at the fountain. He doesn't have any words today—nothing different than the usual at least.

_Let me do my best for Noct._

He hopes the Astrals will forgive him for not calling Noct by his title in his prayers, but at this point it feels weird.

Once he’s made it to Noct’s suite and swapped with Scaevola and his trainee, he stands in the foyer since he hears voices from the office. It’s clearly Gladio and Ignis, and the doors are open so it must not be too private. He’s learned that if there is something that even he isn't supposed to know, they shut the double doors. And he's learned not to pry.

He does hear the television, so he wonders if Noctis is there. Maybe he’s sleeping—

Prompto’s phone vibrates against his leg. He pulls it out enough to read the text across the screen.

_Get in here, it's shark week._

Prompto barely conceals a snort as he steps out of the hallway. It’s clearly a stay inside day because Noctis is wrapped up in his favorite weighted blanket with a big bowl of popcorn and hot sauce nestled beside him.

At first Prompto wonders what has happened over his days off, because what this looks like is the usual routine when Noctis has had a bad day.

He doesn't ask though. He isn’t the one Noctis gets into the politics of his life with. When Noctis does open up, it’s usually done in a way that’s vague and a bit whining until Prompto gives in to whatever he wants to do as a distraction. And that’s fine.

But Gladio is in the office, so he gives Noctis his practiced stern look as he stands beside the couch facing the TV. Noctis responds with a pout and throws a handful of popcorn at him.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, then because they fucking can’t, they both break out laughing.

It relieves a lot of the tension of the last few days.

“Prompto,” Ignis says from behind. Prompto wipes his eyes as he turns and waves at him and Gladio as they come out of the office. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into Noctis and explain to him that shark week does not count as a reasonable excuse from his royal duties.”

“I—”

“Specs, come on, what if I’m ever on a boat.”

Prompto sees a tense expression on both Ignis and Gladio’s faces. He hops to the back of the couch—still multiple arms distance away from Noctis.

“Sorry sir, His Highness has got a point. Gotta know how to fight sharks.”

Gladio chuckles and Ignis sighs, and Prompto feels good that he can exist like this, relieving tension in the air whenever they are faced with the harsh realities of Noctis’s predestined fate. Because ya, one day Noctis _will_ leave the Citadel. And then who knows, maybe even Lucis, as the Chosen King.

They have to be ready for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? Prompto got Cor’s attention? And Regis quoted some more of the Cosmogony...
> 
> Up next: Something different (again).
> 
> THANKS AGAIN [HisGlasses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisGlasses) for the art, please give them some love!!! 
> 
> Also can you believe this is Chapter 15?!? Only a handful more to go for this story. ;__; Thank you for sticking with us.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto freezes in an alarming way. Which—is perhaps not entirely a surprise. Still, Ignis does his best to soften his expression when he adds, “Would you care for some tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many times will Ignis scare Prompto over a cup of tea? Yes. 
> 
> Big shout out to [kai](https://twitter.com/peachesand_jam) for the art for this chapter!! Please give them lots of love, we were so excited to work with them for what we wanted to show this chapter. :333

Noctis is out cold again when Ignis hears low, muffled voices. With the bedroom door shut, he missed the knock that heralded the start of the next guard shift. Ignis checks the time on his phone reflexively—yes, that ought to be Prompto, not Gladio. The Citadel has slowly relaxed some of the security procedures after the fall of Tenebrae, enough so that Gladio is taking the opportunity to check in on the Crownsguard trainees and oversee some of their drills after being so long away.

Ignis still tries to escape Noct’s grip as quickly as he can anyway, though there’s something heartbreaking in how tightly Noctis clings in his sleep. He could force the issue, if needed, but Ignis would prefer that Noctis sleep while he can. It takes a few careful minutes to extricate his legs from Noct’s grip—Noctis is rather fond of throwing his arm over Ignis’s legs and curling up against him. No wonder Prompto had such difficulty escaping out from under Noctis on the couch.

He escapes, eventually, and carefully slips out of Noct’s bedroom. Ignis heads to the foyer--and yes, Scaevola and his trainee are gone, with Prompto in their place. Prompto offers a quick salute, and Ignis smiles faintly.

“I’m afraid His Highness is asleep right now,” Ignis says, keeping his voice low. “We had to adjust his schedule to accommodate a sudden meeting this afternoon, so he went to the infirmary early.”

Prompto looks a little concerned, which Ignis decides is endearing. “He overdo it?”

“A touch. I’ve arranged for a late meal, and I’ll be waking him shortly before that. Gladio will be joining us as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ignis regards Prompto for a moment, but it is unlikely he will have any time with just the two of them for a while. He may as well take advantage of it. “I’d like to speak with you before Noctis wakes up.”

Prompto freezes in an alarming way. Which—is perhaps not entirely a surprise. Still, Ignis does his best to soften his expression when he adds, “Would you care for some tea?”

“I—” Prompto’s throat works. “Yeah, sure. I mean—yes, sir. Whatever—whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Come, then,” Ignis says, and he heads for the kitchen. He can hear Prompto trailing after him, his footsteps quietly uncertain.

“Do you need help?”

“No. Have a seat, please,” Ignis says. He busies himself with filling and starting the electric kettle and searching through Noct’s cupboard for the loose-leaf tea and infusers. He hears the scrape of a chair against the floor, and he is pleased that Prompto didn’t have to be scolded into taking his seat.

Ignis fills the two infusers with one of his favorite green tea blends and then gets out teacups and saucers. It has gone silent behind him, which is also not unexpected, though it is a blunt reminder that Prompto is still—uneasy with him.

He knows not to take that personally, though Ignis will admit to himself it does sting a little. “How is your nose?” Ignis asks, careful to keep his back to Prompto so Prompto doesn’t have to worry about his own reactions. “Any residual pain?”

“No, the potion totally fixed it up.”

“Still, I apologize for the mishap. I do hope you know it was not intentional.”

Prompto makes a dismissive sound, though he cuts it off quickly. “Yeah, no, it’s fine. Things happen when you’re sparring, I get it. No big deal. Uh, sir.”

This time Ignis does turn around to face Prompto, who is sitting at the foot of the table. Ignis leans back against the kitchenette counter, hoping to project a relaxed air, though the eye contact makes Prompto straighten up in his chair. “When we are in a private setting, I would prefer it if you dropped your formality and not call me ‘sir.’”

Prompto stares at him. “You do?”

“It would be simpler that way as you seem to be having trouble remembering it as of late.”

It’s meant to be a bit of gentle ribbing, but Prompto is not used to his sense of humor. He not-quite flinches. “Sorry!”

“No, Prompto—” Ignis resists the urge to sigh. “Apologies, again. I was trying to tease you. Though it is awkward if you call me ‘sir’ and do not show Noctis the same courtesy.”

Prompto hesitates. “Was that serious or are you joking?”

Oh dear. “That was serious.”

“Yes, sir.” Prompto’s eyes go wide. “Shit. I mean—Ignis. I understand.”

Ignis makes a valiant effort to keep a straight face, even though Prompto’s fumbling is amusing when it is in private. “Well, that’s a start, I suppose.”

The kettle saves Prompto from having to respond, and Ignis turns to ready the tea. He carries the two sets of cups and saucers to the table and sets one in front of Prompto. Rather than taking the head of the table, Ignis choses the seat perpendicular to Prompto. He hopes it will put Prompto more at ease, rather than having to watch each other from across the entire length of the table.

Prompto carefully wraps both hands around his teacup, though that doesn’t keep his hands entirely still. One pointer finger traces the rim of his cup.

Ignis regards him silently for a moment over his own cup of tea. It’s clear that _something_ is going on in Prompto’s head, but whatever it is, he is keeping firm control of his tongue.

A small sliver of envy works its way under Ignis’s skin. While it’s true that he finds distant, political interactions with the Council and other members of Insomnia’s nobility easy, his circle of true friends, confidants, is not much bigger than Noct’s. Beyond Noctis and Gladio, Ignis doesn’t have much interaction with his peers that isn’t in a professional capacity, not counting his cousins. It’s—

It seems he is worse at socializing than he thought. An obstacle he needs to figure out how to overcome, if they are ever going to integrate Prompto into Noct’s retinue.

 _If._ As if it is a question at this point, regardless of what Lady Lunafreya says. Prompto will soon be an official figure in Noct’s life. The only question will be if they will be adding anyone else.

“I have been meaning to ask you,” Ignis begins, “if you felt confident enough to have a trainee shadow you on your shifts.”

Prompto blinks. He hesitates for a second, but then he nods. “Yeah, I can, if you need me to.”

“Gladio and I are still debating it,” Ignis says. “While we would like to continue to increase the number of people eligible for Noct’s guard, we are also reluctant to reduce the interaction you and Noctis have.”

It takes a moment for Prompto to process the implications of that—if he is being shadowed, he will be unable to offer Noctis surreptitious comfort—but he does respond admirably. “If that’s what you need for Noct, then yeah, I’ll do it.”

That little declaration of loyalty makes Ignis smile faintly. He takes the infuser out of his tea and sets it carefully on the saucer. “We are also working on security arrangements for Lady Lunafreya, should she decide to join us in Insomnia. And considering your previous correspondence with her, I was wondering if you would like to serve any shifts with her instead.”

Surprise washes across Prompto’s face, but then he pauses. “Does—does it have to be instead? Could I do both?”

Ignis hides his smile behind his cup of tea and takes a small drink. “Are you hoping for overtime pay?”

“No, I’m—!” Prompto stops and squints at Ignis. “Okay, that’s definitely a joke.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.” Prompto takes a breath. “Yes, I am.”

Ignis smiles a little wider and sets his cup down. “We intend to keep Lady Lunafreya’s presence in the Citadel a secret, if we can. It’s better for us if the Empire wastes resources looking for her. We’ve set a suite up for her on the floor above, so she will be nearby.”

That finally gets Prompto to take out his own infuser, though he doesn’t try the tea yet. “Makes sense. Noct’ll want to see her as much as he can.”

Ignis nods. “In the meantime, I’m attempting to arrange another training session during one of your shifts.”

“Really?” Prompto perks up at that.

“Yes. I had hoped we could today, but the meeting later this afternoon has made that impossible.” Ignis takes another drink and adds quietly. “I’ve spoken with the priests, and they have assured me that they have prepared unscented oils, and you will be able to apply them in the storage room, which has better ventilation.”

“Thanks, Ignis.” Prompto smiles, wide and relieved, and Ignis is a little surprised by the intensity of it. “I know I’m not great against warpers, but I’ll figure it out, I promise. The Marshal said I could join in some Kingsglaive training sessions. I want to get better, for Noct.”

It’s a sentiment that Ignis cannot find fault with. He truly hopes that Lady Lunafreya will have a positive reply for them. “I have no doubt you will.”

Silence creeps in again, but this time it isn’t quite so strained. It is as good a time as any to make the transition into something more—personal. “Prompto, I wanted to thank you.”

Prompto goes still, cup halfway to his mouth. “What for?”

“It has been impossible to ignore the positive effect you’ve had on Noctis,” Ignis says quietly. “I am grateful, and relieved, that you decided to stay by Noct’s side, despite the—difficulties we had recently.”

“Yeah, of course,” Prompto says, sounding surprised. “You’re scary as hell but, like, if you’re not going to throw me in the dungeon, I’ll deal with it.”

Ignis can’t keep his laugh from escaping, though he does hide it behind his free hand.

Prompto’s face gets a bit red, but his jaw is set, like he’s trying to dare Ignis into contradicting him. It’s—a change, a good change, from the resignation, the uncertainty, he displayed the last time they had tea together.

“For the record,” Ignis says once he has cleared his throat, “I don’t actually have the authority to do that.”

“Really?”

“Not until Noctis is king.”

“Huh.” Prompto looks a touch confused, and Ignis decides he needs to figure out lessons for Prompto on how the court functions and who has what authority outside the general hierarchy of the Crownsguard. That can wait for another day.

“Back to the topic at hand,” Ignis says, serious once again. “What you have done for Noctis was as equally kind as it was brave. You could have done any number of things rather than allowing Noctis to seek reassurance from you.”

Prompto’s flush darkens, and he gives up on trying to drink his tea. He laces his fingers together, hands resting in front of him on the table. “It’s—not a big deal,” he mumbles. “It’s just my job.”

“It is absolutely not your job,” Ignis says, and he can’t quite manage to blunt the sharp edge to his voice. It was utterly wretched when Noctis said that Ignis was only enduring him, and Ignis cannot imagine what would happen if Noctis heard Prompto saying that.

He should have kept a level voice, though, because Prompto’s shoulders tense. Ignis takes a breath, then says in a more moderate tone, “I do hope you were trying to downplay your choices and that was not an actual reflection of your feelings.”

Prompto is quiet for a moment, but then he nods, and the tension eases out of him. “Yeah. That’s—I asked him once. If it sucked to—be like he is. And he kinda didn’t answer.”

Ignis’s heart aches at that response, though he knew the truth already. Else Noctis wouldn’t come to him, or to Prompto, and put so much of himself at risk.

Prompto must still be feeling a little unbalanced, though, because he keeps talking. “So, it’s okay. If he needs someone to fall asleep on or whatever. I don’t mind.”

Ignis cannot help the way his expression softens. “Noctis truly must be chosen by the Six to have made a friend like you.”

“A what?” Prompto’s surprise would be comical, if it weren’t for his next word. “Me?”

“Yes,” Ignis says firmly. “In fact, yours is the first true friendship that Noctis has cultivated on his own.”

Prompto stares at him. “Shit, you’re not joking.”

The alarm Ignis set on his phone goes off, and Ignis has to fish the device out of his jacket to silence it. “I need to wake Noctis. Lunch should be here soon. Would you mind clearing the table?”

Ignis stands up, and Prompto does as well, though it appears to be a distracted reflex. “Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” he says, but at least he does not call Ignis _sir_ again.

“Thank you,” Ignis says. “And Prompto?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you applied for Noct’s guard. I hope we will be working together for many years to come.”

* * *

Ignis, thankfully, closes the door to Noct’s bedroom once he’s inside. It gives Prompto the moment he needs to brace both his hands on the dining table and _breathe_.

Friend. Friend friend friend. The word bangs around in his head to the beat of his heart racing, and Prompto is almost dizzy.

Things don’t work out like this for Prompto. Not in his experience. That he even got into the Crownsguard was already a miracle in his eyes. And that’s why he has been so willing to do whatever was needed, whatever Noctis needed.

But to know Noctis doesn't just see him as one of the guards in his rotation makes Prompto’s face hot and the ache in his chest loosen a little before it constricts tighter.

Prompto catches some low murmurs on the other side of the bedroom door. It’s his cue to get moving, because Ignis will be out soon with a sleepy Noct and lunch will also be arriving soon. Prompto collects the teacups carefully and heads towards the counter. There’s a few small plates and forks already in the sink, most likely left over from breakfast.

It’s the perfect distraction. Prompto doesn’t mind doing dishes; he lives alone, and it’s become kinda like a meditation moment every night. So, he removes his gloves and sets them on the counter within arm’s reach. He casts a quick look over his shoulder before seeking out the dish washing gloves from under the sink like he’s seen Ignis do many times by now. He gets the water running, pours in the dish soap, and he’s almost instantly zoning out as he starts placing the dishes into the sink and drops in the soap.

Thinking about it, it’s kinda wild there isn’t a dishwasher in Noct’s place, but also, he supposes the amount of times someone isn't just taking all the dishes away almost immediately is rare enough that it isn’t necessary. In a weird way it shows the privilege?

There’s so much Prompto has been learning about what it’s really like to be royal even without actually being one himself. The good, the bad, the kinda weird?

The sink is full up enough Prompto can start washing. They weren't super dirty so it's not like they need much scrubbing, but he is more than happy to have something to do with his hands.

He isn’t sure what lies ahead for them, but Prompto does know that he feels honored. Honored to be there, even if that means sometimes standing in a hallway staring at a wall, or washing the dishes, or...

Or being Noct’s friend. Again, that word. Sure, Prompto had those fleeting moments where he thought in some way, he could be like a friend to Noctis. But they were just that—passing thoughts of whimsy as this weird kinda fairytale played out. He would be forever happy to have gotten where he stands already, and he doesn’t need that extra label to define him in order to stay by Noct’s side.

Is there a chance Ignis could just be saying things to make Prompto feel better about everything that’s been going on? They are both in league here, two people doing something they shouldn't be, breaking a taboo, risking what? The whole of humanity? Noct?

Maybe Ignis just wants someone else to share the blame.

Noctis is royalty. More than that, Noctis is the Chosen King. His whole life has been spent and will be spent in that role. And alongside that he is kindhearted, he loves his dad, he wants to do good in the world and help anyone who has put their necks out for the Crown, for Insomnia. He likes chocolate cake and sleeping in and playing video games. He worries about his _friends_ , who are people like Lady Lunafreya, a princess—a _queen_. And Gladio, who is strong, and Ignis who is smart and devoted wholly. Noctis wants to see the outside world but also knows his place, his role, and takes it with a grace Prompto’s never seen before. He’s powerful, but doesn’t flaunt it at all. He’s got a lazy kind of confidence, the kind where he looks picture perfect no matter what.

Prompto lifts up one of the teacups and stares at it. As the bubbles slip off, he sees a bit of his reflection in the dark porcelain. It almost feels easier to believe Ignis is lying than to believe Noctis has ever given Prompto any thought past being one of his guard.

Prompto blinks at the reflection he’s still staring at in the teacup.

Noctis is...he’s amazing. And he doesn't have time for someone like Prompto. Someone of common birth, someone who...someone who has secrets and a past he doesn’t even really know. Someone who’s never done anything of value in his life for the world except maybe save a small pup. And he gets to touch Noctis only because he’s there and willing to like, sacrifice his own soul basically for whatever Noctis wants and needs.

Noctis is miles and miles and miles out of Prompto’s league.

Prompto blinks. The cup slips from his hand.

“Shit!” The cup hits the water which is a fucking relief because the worst that happens is water splashing a little onto the countertop.

Then Prompto rewinds back ten seconds in his inner monologue because—

Out of his league? Is his brain getting wires crossed there’s no way...

The bubbles in the water are dissolving and Prompto’s heart is beating so hard he can feel the pulse in his neck.

“Shit,” Prompto whispers.

His mind plays through all the moments that are the evidence his head needs to catch up to his heart—the nights hanging out, the texts, the casualness of playing video games, their hands slotting together perfectly.

“No, no, no, no.” Prompto tries to block the way he can feel everything coming together and connecting because he can't. He can't add this to the mess of shit going on.

A door opens. “You must eat something,” Ignis says. There are soft footsteps heading in his direction.

Prompto jams his hands back into the water and focuses so fucking hard on cleaning one of the plates.

“Hey, Prompto,” Noctis says so casually, like this is the most normal thing, Prompto washing dishes and having a full-blown meltdown because—

Because Prompto let feelings squeeze through the cracks in the walls he had built up so long ago and has only just fucking realized it.

“Y-yeah?” Prompto keeps his focus on his task, on scrubbing the small tea plate even though it’s clean.

“Want pizza?” He hears Noctis dropping into a chair at the table, and Prompto lets out a silent thanks that he didn’t walk up to Prompto.

“As I said, I’ve already arranged for lunch to be brought up.”

Noctis groans dramatically, the kind Prompto normally would have smiled at and shared a conspirator glance with him over.

Now all Prompto can do is wonder how long he can stand there washing the same four dishes.

There’s a set of knocks on the front door. Prompto finally risks a look over his shoulder just as Ignis walks into the foyer and out of sight. He catches Noctis’s questioning expression before muttering under his breath about the dishes and turns back to stare down into his new best friend, Water.

He hears talking in the foyer. Ignis usually doesn't chat up the kitchen staff. A nagging in his head makes Prompto finally pull his hands out, remove the dish gloves, and get his own on before he turns around to see what’s going on.

Noctis is also looking interested about why Ignis has not come back, focused on staring in that direction.

“Noct,” Ignis calls.

Noctis stands and steps slowly out of view, leaving Prompto where he can finally let out a long sigh as he leans his back against the counter and stares up at the ceiling.

He’s already crossing a line with his behavior around Noctis, requested or not. He’s pretty sure _feelings_ are definitely also off the table.

There’s a sound of commotion that puts all Prompto’s anxieties on full stop and he launches himself forward towards the foyer.

He staggers at the number of people standing around in the small space at the door—there is a team of Kingsglaive and Gladio and Ignis crowded in the foyer. Noctis is lost in the sea of black.

“Hey, Prompto,” Gladio says way louder than Prompto thinks is necessary. He freezes when the Glaives all turn to him.

Except for one. The air completely leaves Prompto’s lungs when he sees why.

One of the glaives is hugging Noctis.

Like a straight up _full body hug_ , and she’s got her arms wrapped around Noctis’s neck and is pulling him so close they are pressed, shoulder to hip. He can’t see her face, but he can see short dark hair.

Noctis is hugging her back, hands clinging to the black uniform for dear life.

And no one is doing anything. They are all watching with something soft in their expressions, Ignis included.

“We’re pretty confident we got through without setting off the Empire,” Nyx says as he emerges from the group. When he passes Prompto, he winks and claps him on the shoulder, as if Prompto should understand easily what the hell is going on. But Prompto _doesn’t._ Why is Nyx there, when he should be out looking for Lady Lunafreya—

“I’m so sorry, I wish...” Noctis’s voice is an anchor keeping Prompto from totally spiraling and shouting out questions. With Nyx out of the circle of Glaives, Prompto can better see how Noctis tightens his hold, burying his head even more against her shoulder.

Prompto braces a hand against the wall before he passes out from sheer confusion and worry and the whiplash of emotions.

“There’s nothing you could have done,” the Glaive speaks softly. Her voice is instantly soothing, calm, and evokes such a large presence.

“But I should have been able to, Luna, I’m—”

“Luna?”

Prompto covers his mouth with both hands. It’s then the person clinging to Noct lifts her head, but doesn’t pull away. She is pale in an ethereal kind of way, made more dramatic by the dark strands of hair framing her face. Her blue eyes sparkle as she looks at Prompto.

“Oh, Prompto.” She slides away from Noctis, who watches as she steps between the Glaives, and then she’s there in front of Prompto, pulling him into the same kind of hug she was giving Noctis just seconds before.

“Luna?” he repeats as she clings to him. At first, he keeps his arms outstretched because he is so used to having to be mindful of who he is touching. But she doesn’t let go, so he isn't sure what else to do except return the hug.

Noctis is watching them.

Lunafreya straightens, sliding her hands to rest on both of Prompto’s shoulders with a reassuring squeeze. She smiles up at him, and he is pretty sure he has lost all ability to move.

“Prompto, you really did it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Luna! :)
> 
> What do you think this means for the boys? 
> 
> SHOUT OUT again to [kai](https://twitter.com/peachesand_jam) for this soft soft moment!!!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s in love with Noctis. 
> 
> He’s in love with the Chosen King. 
> 
> He’s in love with someone he can never be with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are so excited that you all are excited about Luna! Please enjoy more of her. <3 
> 
> Shout out again to [kai](https://twitter.com/peachesand_jam) for more of their lovely art in this chapter!

Eight years ago, Lady Lunafreya stopped in Insomnia for several weeks, after she finished her training as the Oracle and her mother granted Lunafreya the permission she needed to walk the world as all young Oracles are meant to do. Insomnia was the final stop on her grand tour, and Noctis counted down the days until he could meet her in person after years of conversing by journal.

She had brought her brother with her, and Lord Ravus had towered over everyone, even Gladio, who hadn’t finished out his growth spurt yet. She’d had three Messengers then—Gentiana, Umbra, and Pryna—and a grace that Ignis envied but could not emulate as he was in the midst of a rather awkward growth spurt of his own.

Noctis is taller than her now, and Ignis can only see Umbra, but Lunafreya still has a smile that makes her presence a balm. And while it was certainly startling to see someone _embrace_ Noctis like that, Ignis cannot muster a single bit of jealousy.

Lunafreya is alive, and she is safe, and Noctis looks as if all the burdens he has ever carried have finally been lifted off his shoulders.

As for Prompto, he looks entirely baffled to have the Oracle in his arms and smiling up at him. And though the confusion doesn’t leave right away, his own excitement and warmth eventually break through. “Holy shit,” Prompto says, as if he weren’t talking to an uncrowned queen and the most powerful woman on Eos, “you’re actually here.”

“I did say I would see you before the end of the year.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Gladio,” Ignis murmurs while Lunafreya teases Prompto for doubting her, “if you would be so kind as to intercept the lunch order?”

Technically, Prompto is the lowest-ranking person in the crowded foyer and should be left with that task, but Ignis is loathe to pull him away from Lunafreya right now. Gladio isn’t inclined to protest, either; he simply nods once and slips past the crowd to the door.

“Lady Lunafreya,” Ignis says over Prompto’s protests, “you and the Kingsglaive have undoubtedly had a difficult journey. If you would have a seat at the dining table, I can get everyone drinks. Have you eaten?”

The offer of food actually has Lunafreya pulling back a little from Prompto’s embrace. “Food would be most welcome.”

“Sir,” Lazarus interrupts, “permission to report to the ranking Kingsglaive officer?”

“Yes, of course,” Ignis says. The Crownsguard and Kingsglaive are two different branches of the Insomnia’s military force, and while the Kingsglaive undertook the mission to retrieve Lunafreya, Ignis truly doesn’t have any authority over them. Someone should report so that King Regis knows that the Oracle is safe. “Ulric? Altius?”

They exchange a brief look, and Ulric is ultimately the one who shrugs. “Could use a minute to sit. And I assume you’ll want us to escort Lady Lunafreya somewhere eventually?”

“Yes, that would be helpful.”

“Come on, Luna.” Noctis takes Lunafreya by the hand and pulls her toward the dining area. Ignis tries not to stare at their clasped hands. “Prompto, can you get the treats for Umbra?”

“On it!”

Lazarus salutes and heads for the door, which Gladio opens for him. Ignis motions for Ulric and Altius to precede him into the dining room. Lunafreya, Ulric, and Altius take off their cloaks and gloves so they can wash up in the kitchen, and Ignis gathers them up so he can drape them over the back of the couch, out of the way.

Gladio gives him a sharp look as he crosses back to the kitchen; he undoubtedly noticed the gloves being left behind. Ignis returns the look and discreetly signals that all is well.

Yes, it’s a uniform violation to allow Ulric and Altius to be without their gloves in Noct’s presence, but they’re also fresh from the road, and Ignis isn’t about to make them put their filthy gloves back on to eat.

Gladio stares at him a moment longer, then sighs, and even though it’s not exactly agreement, it isn’t outright denial. Ignis gives Gladio a tight smile and ignores the uptick of his own heart.

Noctis and Lunafreya have claimed the head of the table as their own, with Ulric and Altius bunching up at the foot of it. Prompto isn’t getting Umbra to do tricks this time, he already is down on one knee and feeding Umbra a treat at a time, in between a lot of petting and whispered _good boy_ s.

If the Messenger isn’t going to object, neither will Ignis. He heads first for the fridge and retrieves four bottles of water, which he quickly sets on the table in front of everyone. Noctis immediately let’s go of Lunafreya’s hand so that the two of them can open their water, undoubtedly so she will drink, and the Kingsglaive after her.

“Gentiana informed me after I finished treating my last Starscourge patients,” Lunafreya says after she finishes her first few swallows of water.

Noctis looks like he wants to apologize again, but all he says is, “Where is she?”

“With Ravus and Pryna.”

“He’s okay?”

“He’s alive,” is what Lunafreya decides to say, and Ignis turns his back to the table to reduce the size of her audience and busies himself with starting the electric kettle for tea. “She—is not able to heal, and neither is Pryna. But they are with him, at my insistence, and guiding him to Insomnia. What of Tenebrae?”

To Noct’s credit, he doesn’t try to deflect the question. “The remnants of the military have formed a resistance. They have not been able to drive the Empire back, but they are bogging them down. We haven’t noticed any significant increase in Niflheim’s military presence in Lucis.”

There is a beat of silence, then a very controlled response, “That is good then.”

“Luna—”

Ignis hears movement but does not turn to look. It is enough to know that Noctis has gone silent. “It is done,” Lunafreya says. “I am in no position to retake my home now, and so I must continue on the path I’ve already chosen.”

Undoubtedly Lunafreya has spent many hours thinking about what she could and could not ask of King Regis on her journey here. She has clearly decided to take a practical, realistic approach. Ignis grabs the last two teacups and saucers and a pair of mugs from the cupboard and sets them on the counter. After a second, he grabs a large bowl, fills it carefully with tap water, and passes it down to Prompto so Umbra can have his fill, too.

Ignis busies himself with the tea while Lunafreya fills in Noctis about her journey to Insomnia. He has the proper cups in front of Noctis and Lunafreya and the mugs for the Kingsglaive by the time Gladio wheels in the serving cart. (He takes a half second to gauge the distance between Noctis and the ungloved Kingsglaive, and appears to find it satisfactory.) There are only three meals, of course, as Prompto is expected to eat prior to his shift, so Ignis sets the meals down in front of Lunafreya, then Altius, and finally Ulric.

“Sir,” Ulric says when he realizes he got the last plate, “I can join Luche in the cafeteria later.”

“His Highness won’t starve,” Ignis points out. “Eat, Ulric.”

“Yeah, you’re fine Nyx. I can get something else,” Noctis says, and then immediately undermines his mature response with, “Is there any leftover cake?”

“I don’t know,” Ignis says even as he heads to the fridge to check. “Did you already eat all of it?”

It turns out that Noctis did not, in fact, eat all of it. Ignis gets the last slice plated and deposits it in front of Noctis with a fork. Ignis hovers for a few minutes more while Lunafreya and Noctis coax Prompto into leaving Umbra’s side and into the conversation. But it doesn’t appear as if anyone needs anything else from him, not now that they have food and drink and the start of a good conversation, so he retreats to the foyer.

Ignis heads for Gladio, who has taken position at the front door. “I’ve already informed Dad,” Gladio says quietly, once Ignis is close enough. “They’re working on a Kingsglaive guard rotation.”

Ignis checks the time on his phone even though he already knows the answer. “We’ll need to leave before it’s ready.”

“Yeah, I know. Mind if we cut Prompto loose?”

“To finish out his shift with Lady Lunafreya?” Ignis smiles faintly. “I don’t think he’d mind. He’d probably enjoy it more than standing guard in a corridor.”

“I’ll call Ateos to see if he can come in.”

“Now that Lady Lunafreya is here, I’ll do what I can to rearrange Noct’s schedule.”

“Good call. He’ll want to see her as much as he can. And to talk to her.”

The _about Prompto_ goes unvoiced, but Gladio doesn’t have to say it for them to both be on the same page. Ignis murmurs, “Have you a candidate in mind to replace him?”

Because if Prompto is Noct’s third, or barring that, joins Noct’s retinue anyway, they’ll need to replace him on guard duty. Prompto can’t be a proper companion to Noctis otherwise. Ignis wonders, briefly, how Prompto will react to that particular conversation, and then sets the question aside to be dealt with later.

“A couple, depending on if we need to keep searching or not,” Gladio says. “I’m betting Ulric will want to be on her guard rather than Noct’s.”

Ignis spends the next several minutes doing what he can to rearrange Noct’s schedule. It’s too late to do anything about this afternoon’s meetings, but there is still some flexibility in the upcoming days. Though he needs to be careful about what he rearranges if they are to keep Lunafreya’s presence as secret as possible. It won’t do to have people wondering why Noctis has cleared much of his schedule.

Eventually his phone pings with a reminder, and Ignis returns to the dining area. “Apologies, Noctis,” he says when there’s a break in the conversation, “but we need to get going.”

Noctis makes a face, but he does stand up from the table. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he tells Lunafreya.

She smiles to him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Prompto,” Ignis says, “we’ve called in Ateos to take over your shift so you can attend to Lady Lunafreya.”

Prompto looks surprised to be addressed, but he immediately grins when Noctis makes a little shooing gesture before retreating to his bedroom to get dressed for his meetings. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Ignis says, and he cannot help how fond it sounds. He clears his throat. “Ulric, Altius, once everyone is finished, help Prompto escort Lady Lunafreya to her quarters, and then you are relieved of duty. A guard rotation is in the works.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lady Lunafreya,” Ignis says once he has described where her quarters are, “your rooms have been stocked with clothing, personal supplies, and a selection of food for both you and Umbra. Should you need anything, please inform Prompto, or you may inform us when we are able to visit.”

Lunafreya smiles. “Thank you, Ignis. Please, call me Luna.”

He has never felt as at ease with her as Noctis has, but this is a direct request, one he shouldn’t contradict. If the uncrowned queen, if the Oracle, wishes it, he will do so, at least in private. Ignis nods deeply. “Luna, then.”

“I’m ready,” Noctis says, and Ignis turns to see him doing up the last button on his jacket. He heads back to the table, and he doesn’t need to ask—Lunafreya simply stands and steps into his embrace when he reaches for her. “Rest, okay?”

“I will,” she says, “after I’ve caught up with Prompto.”

Noctis laughs and finally, reluctantly, pulls away from her. Ignis cannot blame him. What a relief it must be to be able to just—reach for someone and not have to consider the ramifications of doing so. For neither party to be afraid of watching eyes.

This jealousy is an old ache, and Ignis tucks it away with the ease of practice. Once Noctis and Lunafreya have said goodbye, he follows Noctis out.

* * *

Prompto’s absolutely about to ascend into the ceiling with all the excitement he’s currently holding inside himself.

Lady Lunafreya— _Luna_ —the _Queen_ of Tenebrae, sits at the small table like it’s the most normal thing in the world after Noctis and company have left. Prompto’s so used to all the images he’s seen of her with her striking platinum blonde hair and pale skin that the dark hair framing her face seems out of place.

But she’s still beautiful, absolutely stunning. Is all royalty just inherently perfect? Probably.

Prompto focuses his attention on Umbra while the others finish their meal. He knows he will get time to speak with her more when they get to her suite, so he is fine to blend into the background for now. He still needs to get his heart to slow down and the nervousness about everything to fade away so he doesn’t make a complete fool of himself.

The low conversation settles into quiet aside from the sound of utensils on the plates. Eventually Nyx is the one to collect everything and passes Prompto as he goes to drop the dishes on the counter.

Nyx gives Prompto a light knock with his knee to his back—when Prompto looks up Nyx is grinning and motioning for him to rise.

“You ready, Luna?”

Nyx referring to her so casually is either because it’s Nyx, or because she’s given the same request to him she did Ignis. Prompto silently hopes she doesn’t request that of him because he honestly still isn’t sure he can speak much at all.

She rises and stretches her neck a little. “Yes, please.”

Altius walks over to them and hands out the gloves and cloaks that had been on the couch. As she hands a cloak to Lunafreya, Nyx stops her.

“Wait,” Nyx motions to Prompto, “let’s have him wear that.”

Prompto stares at the cloak as he takes it from Altius. “What’s this for?”

“Luna’s in disguise, so among us she won’t stand out, but everyone here knows you.”

Altius gives Prompto a wink. “And everyone knows you work solely for Noctis.”

He ignores whatever Altius is trying to imply there because Prompto doesn’t want to seem like he doesn’t want to help or that he wants to cause trouble. He doesn’t, but also his mind is still just. Reeling. The realization of his feelings is stuck in his chest like a cough and then Lunafreya is there and it’s just. A lot. To process.

“Got it,” he simply says and drapes the glaive cloak over his shoulders, pulling the hood up so it frames his face and hides his hair.

Altius nods and joins the others in the foyer where they talk in low voices. Prompto turns to Lunafreya and smiles shyly.

“You look even more official in person,” she says softly. Prompto blushes and fights the urge to pull the hood down to hide his face.

“Thanks—” his voice catches, and he clears his throat. “Thank you.”

“Alright,” Nyx speaks louder, “let’s get you settled in, Luna.”

“Yes, thank you.” She steps closer to Prompto and squeezes his arm lightly. “We have much to talk about.”

The only thing he can do in response is nod, and then move towards the door. He’s nervous and excited and terrified and he’s catching on that these are just the emotions he may always have in rotation as long as his place is here.

He follows Nyx out the door with Lady Lunafreya at his side, Umbra trailing behind them.

They don’t pass anyone on their way up to her prepared suite, but Prompto keeps the hood close around his face just in case. There are guards positioned at the elevator entrance when the doors open on the floor—Prompto imagines they were moved to be there for them, and he understands again about having to hide not only himself but Lady Lunafreya. With Niflheim on the move and no one really knowing where they might strike next, there’s probably an even greater risk to agents in the shadows.

It’s quiet until the four of them are inside her suite, and it feels like they all exhale at the same time as they pass through the foyer and pause in the living room. It’s set up almost exactly like Noct’s place, minus the shrine against the wall. Umbra zooms in and heads right for the kitchen.

“I’m supposed to remind you that you need stay here until we can sort out next steps,”

“Does Ignis think I am a flight risk?” The question is light, and Lunafreya smiles at Nyx when she says it.

“It’s probably not you he’s worried about.”

It seems like it’s an inside joke almost with the way they all give way to soft laughs. Prompto looks away, pretending to be studying the layout of the space.

“Thank you again, for your service. All of you. Please make sure my thanks are given to everyone whom I owe my safety to.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Altius bows.

Nyx waves a hand. “You got it, we’re in your service.”

Altius turns on her heel obviously ready to leave, and Prompto can’t blame her—they’ve been out looking for Lunafreya for how long, they are all probably wiped out emotionally and physically just like Lunafreya is.

There’s another moment of Nyx bowing to Lunafreya before he follows Altius, and then they both leave.

When the door shuts the silence feels weirdly heavy. Years and years of talking to Lunafreya through a notebook has made Prompto realize he isn’t sure if he knows how to talk to her out loud.

He thinks of what Ignis would do, if he were here. “I’ll make some tea?”

When he catches her glance, Prompto sees the weariness finally on her face.

“I think I would like to take a shower, and then rest for a bit.”

“Oh, ya, yes, of course.” He plays with the edges of the cloak a little. “You’ve been through a lot, please.”

“Thank you, Prompto. I promise, we will talk. I think the journey has finally caught up with me.”

“Sure, I’ll be here.”

Lunafreya smiles and then vanishes into the bathroom.

Prompto looks around the room, and removes the cloak, folding it before setting it on the back of the couch. Then he heads into the kitchen, and is relieved on behalf of Umbra to find dog treats in the same place as in Noct’s.

However, Umbra seems to also be tired, because after just a few tricks he leaves Prompto, and lies on the carpet under the coffee table.

“Ya, you have the right idea,” Prompto follows the pup and collapses onto the couch, staring at the blank TV screen as the sound of the shower fills the room.

He finally, unfortunately, has to face his earlier revelation.

He can’t have feelings for Noctis. He fucking _can’t._ He’s already got so much wrapped up in this between his weird secret pact with Ignis and trying to prove he can keep up with Gladio on the battlefield and making sure he doesn’t fuck up being part of Noct’s guard.

He blames his lack of close friends. He never had people he spent so much casual time with as Noctis. Anyone he dated in high school was short lived for different reasons every time, and after that his focus was so much on training that he just never had time for more than passing crushes on people.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he is thankful for the distraction. It’s a text from Noct, though, which just makes his heart jump into his throat.

_Thanks for taking care of Luna._

Prompto sucks in a sharp breath. He thinks back to that night, the one where he first grabbed Noctis because he thought maybe he had crossed a line in talking to Lady Lunafreya, that somehow Noctis was upset at him for that. Jealous, even.

The thought worms its way right into his brain. She’s someone Noctis can touch, can be touched by, without any fear. No secrets. In front of others, in front of _Gladio_. And there’s zero problems.

_Hey of course. We’re at her suite now._

The bathroom door opens and Lady Lunafreya steps out, hair tucked into a towel on her head and wearing an oversized sweatshirt and shorts.

“Much better.”

Prompto forces himself to smile. “Bet you’ll feel even better after a nap.”

“I believe,” she steps closer and pokes his shoulder, “you are very right.” She moves past him.

“Sleep tight.”

He hears her hum, and then the bedroom door closes. Prompto’s right foot bounces and he feels a swell of worry starting to worm its way up his throat, so he grabs the remote and turns on the TV. Since Lunafreya is asleep, he figures he can take the time to rest himself. His brain feels like mush, so he decides to zone out with some trashy reality show.

The couches here are just too comfortable, Prompto decides as he jolts awake during a loud commercial break. A quick look at his phone shows him at least he hasn’t been asleep for too long, just under an hour. He scrambles for the remote and turns the volume down, but he worries the damage was done when he hears the bedroom door opening.

He spins around to see a sleepy queen, and he thinks about the first time he saw Noctis. He pushes that memory away quickly.

“Hey, Lady uh, Lunafreya. So sorry—”

“Luna, please call me Luna,” she corrects him and stifles a yawn, “I would love to have that tea now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh my gosh of course I don’t.” He’s up instantly and heading into the kitchenette which is the perfect distraction he needs because he isn’t sure he _can_ call her Luna. He gets away with being casual with Noctis, but Lunafreya is a queen. A _Queen._ Prompto has never even met King Regis.

Since it is just like Noct’s place, it’s easy for him to find everything he needs to get a kettle going and starts rifling through the tea options.

“There’s just uh, chamomile, or black tea? Oh, and green tea.”

“Chamomile would be lovely, thank you.”

He opts for the same—not like he got to drink much of his tea with Ignis earlier and his nerves are fucking shot. He could use anything that could soothe him at this point.

Prompto takes the mugs in each hand and turns to the table. Lady Lunafreya is sitting cross legged, chin in her hands and giving him a look that makes him fidget. He sets down the mugs and at least has the thought to go back to the kitchenette and grab a plate for their tea bags. He isn’t a complete mess, that’s good. The kettle clicks and he jumps over to grab it, and pours hot water in both their mugs. When he sits, he tries to inhale deeply the smell of the herbs.

“Thank you.” Lunafreya pulls the mug a little closer but keeps staring at him. “I really can’t believe I’m here.”

“Me neither,” he nervously laughs, and she smiles.

“I’m very glad, even though the circumstances are...what they are. I am sorry that I hadn’t been able to write back to you after your last letter. It seems you have found your place, though?”

Prompto calculates how much he can say without giving away anything. He assumes that Ignis’s warning about no one knowing about Noct’s requests applies even to her. But it feels inappropriate to lie—not only is Lady Lunafreya now a queen, but she’s also the Oracle, the one connected to the Astrals, the very Astrals who decreed Noctis the Chosen King. There’s a chance her reaction to Prompto’s behavior could be even worse than Gladio’s—maybe less violent, but upsetting her, or disappointing her, feels about on the same level.

“I feel...settled.” He isn’t sure he’s ever been more careful about how he’s speaking and that includes his interview with Ignis. “Noctis doesn’t...he doesn’t act like he’s, you know.”

Lunafreya nods. “He’s always carried the weight of everything quietly, with a calm humility.”

“It seems so unfair,” Prompto starts, and he takes to swirling the tea bag as a reason to pause. “I mean, I don’t think I could go through what he has to.”

Lunafreya hums softly. When Prompto looks up, she’s removing the tea bag and setting it on the small plate carefully.

“When Noctis was young,” she brings the cup up and blows over the tea, “he was shy, and a little aloof. So, he wasn’t one to reach out for contact much. My hope has always been that somehow made this easier—less like he lost something.”

“And he has you, and the King.”

At that Lunafreya takes a sip of her tea before smiling at Prompto. “I am hardly any help, but yes, he has his father. I hope that having you, Ignis, and Gladio around helps somehow.”

Prompto’s throat clenches. He focuses on his own tea bag and puts it on the plate. “I mean, I’m just. Me, right? I’m just one of the guards. Ignis and Gladio, they’re the ones who’ve been around for years and know him, are people Noct can lean on.”

He catches too late his slip up in his casual way of referring to Noctis, and Lunafreya has a look in her eyes that makes Prompto think for one second that _she_ can definitely read minds and knows exactly what’s going on.

“I do think you are much more than just a guard, Prompto. Noctis considers you a dear friend.”

“I’m—” Prompto almost drops his cup because having Ignis, and then _the Oracle_ say that Prompto is Noct’s _friend_ is downright overwhelming. “I don’t, he hasn’t…”

“He also said you are quite humble, and I can see he’s right.”

Heat blossoms up his neck and he sits back, hands still wrapped around the cup. “It’s—I’m not. It’s not like that. Just. I didn’t—”

“He appreciates you, as more than a member of his guard. Truly.”

“Oh,” his mouth goes dry. “I, uh, I do, too. I mean. He’s, he’s Noct? You know.” He tries to keep his voice as casual as possible, and not trip over Noct’s name. If anyone could read Prompto’s mind and heart, it would probably be Lunafreya, which would really be his luck at this point.

Prompto sits back as if the distance will keep his thoughts safe. He doesn't feel like having more tea. So much for it helping his nerves.

“He is.”

“Oh, I did get to train with him—that was. A lot.”

“Was it?”

“I mean! The actual training was amazing. I was exhausted but it was really cool to fight alongside Noct and the others. But the purification was…”

“Ah, yes, I can imagine that was a lot to process the first time.”

Prompto tries not to think about his near panic attack. About his barcode. About Noctis’s palm against his and their fingers slotted together. About the weight of Noctis on his chest.

“I mean I heard it was long, from Gladio and Ignis. I guess I just didn’t really know what that meant.”

“It shows your dedication though, that you went through it.”

He blinks. “Huh, I hadn’t...really thought of it like that.”

“I would say that’s part of the process. Those who aren’t dedicated, they don’t go through that just to train.”

There’s a flash of remembering how Gladio has to go through that process multiple times a week and there’s another spike of guilt. “Y-ya. That’s true.”

Lunafreya stretches her arms up. “How about we relax over on the couch? I haven’t had time to just sit for some time.”

“Oh, sure!” He hops up and goes on over to choose a spot just to the right of the television's edge so that she can sit facing it square on. She sits and immediately grabs a pillow to cling to.

“You were out on the road for a long time huh?”

She nods as Prompto hands her the remote. She takes it and starts scrolling through channels. “It’s work I enjoy, though it has been more...exhausting as of late.”

Prompto realizes, then, what he hasn’t addressed at all yet. “I’m sorry, about your home. Your family.”

There’s the faintest of shifts in her expression, a tightening of her lips, before it vanishes and is replaced by the now already familiar smile.

“Thank you, Prompto.”

“I know I’m just...but if you need to. Talk about anything? I know I’m not like Noct or anyone who knows what it's like but, I think I'm a good listener.”

He feels weird as he realizes he’s just made this offer to a literal queen, but when she looks at him, there’s a bit of color in her cheeks and her eyes shimmer. Prompto almost loses it because he somehow made her cry.

“You’re as kind as Noctis said.” Her voice is soft, vulnerable. Prompto wants to wrap her up in blankets and keep her safe.

“I’m—” the door opens and he sits upright. He isn't sure if it's okay he’s sitting next to Lunafreya or—

Noct appears out of the foyer. When he looks at Prompto and Luna, he smiles wide. Then Ignis and Gladio appear behind him, and they _also_ smile, and Prompto feels like he’s missing out on something here.

“You aren’t resting,” Noctis says playfully, hand on his hip.

“I am. Do you know when the last time I sat on a couch in front of a television was?”

With a laugh Noctis walks around the back of the couch and sits on the other side of Lunafreya. Prompto sees how he sits so their arms are instantly touching.

He swallows and looks at the tv screen.

“Noct, we can’t stay for long,” Ignis warns. But Noctis is already leaning back and relaxing, with Lunafreya curling up against him.

They look content. Noctis looks happy.

Prompto feels something welling up in his eyes and throat and—

There’s a series of knocks at the door, and when the door opens, Ignis looks towards whoever walked in.

“Ah, Bellum,” Ignis calls out, before turning to Lunafreya, “Kingsglaive Bellum will take the first shift as part of your guard.”

Prompto is more than willing to take that as a cue to stand up and put more distance between himself and Lunafreya and most especially Noct, before he says or does something stupid. He gives the two a small wave, which they return.

“Prompto,” Ignis’s voice gets him to turn back around, “I’ll let you know tomorrow if you need to report elsewhere for your shift.”

“Thank you, sir.” He keeps up appearances because Bellum is there, and sure Ignis can probably drop courtesy now and again, but Prompto can’t, not in front of others.

He salutes to them and then goes to make his exit. Gladio stops him though, hand on his shoulder and for a split second Prompto thinks he’s been caught, this is it—

But Gladio just squeezes and smiles, and Prompto isn't sure what the hell is happening today.

“Good job today.”

“T-thank you. Sir.”

With that, Prompto makes his exit. Out the door. Down the elevator. Through the lobby. Across the courtyard. Down the stairs. To the train station.

He focuses on getting home. Not on looking at his phone. Not thinking about Lady Lunafreya, curling up against Noctis. Not on Noctis, leaning into her touch so naturally.

Not on how his heart aches with how much he wishes he could do the same. How much he wishes he could be that person for Noct, someone he can be himself with. Not a secret.

Not a lie.

Not a risk to the entire fucking world.

He tries to tell himself that Ignis is also in the same boat, being this secret, so there has to be something to that. Something to the fact that Ignis allows this to continue despite whatever risks.

But now Prompto wonders if Noct would even...does he need Prompto? For that? Or Ignis? If Lunafreya is here, will he no longer look to either of them for that attention?

By the time he reaches his apartment he’s on the verge of losing it, and once the door is closed safely behind him, Prompto leans against it and slides to the ground, burying his head in his arms as he lets out the tears he’d been holding what felt like since that afternoon.

He’s in love with Noctis.

He’s in love with the Chosen King.

  
He’s in love with someone he can never be with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how long do you think it will take for Prompto’s emotional meltdown? :333
> 
> Shout out again to [kai](https://twitter.com/peachesand_jam) for the softest art ;___; 
> 
> Only three more chapters to go~!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Prompto’s my third,” Noctis says, all in a rush, like he cannot hold it back anymore. “I mean—I want him to be my Swordsworn. Is he? You didn’t—?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love Luna. Have you noticed? She’s the best. <3
> 
> Shout out again to [kai](https://twitter.com/peachesand_jam) for more soft luna art in this chapter!!!!

Ignis does feel a little guilty watching Prompto leave. Prompto is, after all, probably the closest person Lady Lunafreya has to a friend in Insomnia after Noctis. After everything that has happened, she would probably appreciate additional support. But Noctis barely stayed in his chair through that last meeting, he was so eager to return to Lunafreya’s side. Ignis hopes that Prompto was good company for her.

Lunafreya looks different yet again. The dark hair is still startling, but she seems less weary than she was when they left her behind around five hours ago. She has obviously showered and found the nondescript clothing that was arranged, and the sweatshirt and shorts she’s wearing appear to be roughly the right size, though it is a little difficult to tell with how she is hugging the accent pillow. Ignis makes a note to ask her about her clothing preferences soon.

(She and Noctis create a rather—domestic picture together. Noctis dressed in suit jacket and tie, leaning ever so slightly toward her like a flower seeking out the warmth of the sun; Lunafreya looking soft and almost boneless in a way that she never quite looked even in the selfies she sent Noctis.

Ignis can’t ignore the way their arms touch, their knees brush, but he packs his jealousy up tightly and puts it away for later.)

“We truly can’t stay long,” Ignis says apologetically, mostly to Lunafreya but also as a reminder to Noctis, who dislikes the dinners already and especially today. “There is a formal dinner with the Greater Council in a little over half an hour that Noctis cannot be absent from.”

Noctis makes a face at him but does not try to argue, which Ignis counts as progress. “My dad says hello, by the way. He was going to come with us to greet you formally and everything, but he got held up.”

“It’s quite all right,” Lunafreya says.

“The Kingsglaive are wrapping up a detail for you,” Gladio adds. “You got any objections to Ulric, Altius, or Lazarus?”

“None.”

“They’ll be on it, then, plus a couple more. Unfortunately, Nyx is the only member of your old honor guard that’s in Insomnia right now. Libertus—you remember him? —he’s in the other team that was searching for you, so he’s probably still chasing down rumors in Duscae.”

The faintest of frowns crosses Lunafreya’s face, but she wisely does not ask what happened to all the rest. She had close to a dozen people in her honor guard when last she was here; Ignis is relieved he doesn’t have to tell her that half are dead.

“They’ll keep post inside the suite in order to minimize your profile,” Ignis says. “Intelligence should provide you with a secure cell phone this evening, and the first Kingsglaive on duty will be bringing in dinner. Would you like to have Argentum as part of your detail?”

Lunafreya immediately looks at Noctis, and he gives her a little half-grin in turn. “You should at least save him on the days I’m stuck in meetings.”

Her laugh is soft, warm, and Ignis’s tamps down his jealousy when the sound makes Noctis smile wider. “The times you’re too busy to visit me, then,” Lunafreya says. “Prompto is just as sweet as I imagined he would be. I’m glad you’ve made friends with him.”

A bit of color works its way into Noct’s cheeks. Gladio shifts, about to speak, but when Ignis shoots him a look, he subsides. It is not Gladio’s question to ask, after all, for all his impatience.

“Yeah, I—” Noctis blows out a breath. He visibly steels himself, then asks, “You got my last message, right?”

Lunafreya’s expression turns so fond that Ignis’s heart aches, and it isn’t even aimed at him. She takes Noct’s hand, and he tangles their fingers together immediately. “I did.”

“Prompto’s my third,” Noctis says, all in a rush, like he cannot hold it back anymore. “I mean—I want him to be my Swordsworn. Is he? You didn’t—?”

“I did not,” Lunafreya says. She leans in just a little, and Noctis presses closer, meeting her in the middle so their foreheads knock together. “I promise, I did not interfere with the choice.”

Noctis squeezes his eyes closed and laughs, not quite wet. “Good. That’s—that’s good.”

A grin splits Gladio’s face, and Ignis allows himself a smile as relief washes over him. He cannot imagine what it must feel like for Noctis to finally have the confirmation—that the person they’ve been looking for most of Noct’s life is finally here.

“I don’t understand all the ways he fills the details in the Cosmogony,” Luna continues, “but you could not have chosen better. Even before he met you, he was worried about you. He is as devoted to you as Gladio and Ignis are.”

The indirect praise makes the back of Ignis’s neck hot. A little thread of fear threatens to work its way around his heart when he thinks of the way he and Prompto are both devoted to Noctis, but Ignis sets that aside for another time. He will not allow those thoughts to ruin this moment.

Noctis looks just as embarrassed as Ignis feels, so it’s not surprising when he straightens up and tries to change the subject. “What’s it like out there?”

He doesn’t seem inclined to let go of Lunafreya’s hand, though, and Lunafreya doesn’t seem to mind. She hums softly while she considers how best to tackle the question.

“There is a haven just outside the boundaries of Galdin Quay,” she begins, “not far from the shoreline. The first time I came to Lucis, I insisted that we camp there for the night after I renewed the sigils instead of returning to the resort hotel. I wanted to make sure I’d done it right. Ravus was—”

There is a small hitch to her breath, but Lunafreya forges on anyway. “He was annoyed. But instead of just renting camping equipment, he bought everything because he knew I was ‘going to keep being stubborn.’ And that night, once we were settling down and the fire was out, the sky—outside the city and the lights, it is truly beyond measure. Lit up with hundreds of stars, and it felt like if I stared too long, I could tumble up into it and fall forever...”

Lunafreya isn’t the most polished storyteller that Ignis has heard, but there is an intimacy to her narration that draws an audience in. Noctis watches her, enraptured as she talks about the plains and mountains and deserts and forests of Lucis and the people who live in it. Who have made their own way after the Wall was pulled back by King Mors, who resist the Empire’s advances and search for and make the joy they can with what they have at hand.

And while Ignis appreciates a first-hand account about life outside Insomnia, it rekindles that ache in his chest that he has whenever he hears Prompto telling Noctis about his photos. Perhaps he shouldn’t have moved into the Citadel; perhaps he should have been a link for Noctis outside of it.

There is little point to second-guessing his decision; Ignis torments himself with it regardless.

Noct’s attention is fixed on Lunafreya, and she indulges him, answering each of his questions about the area surrounding Galdin Quay while Gladio and Ignis hover on the edges of the room. Ignis is filled with an aching sort of nostalgia for the scene. Noctis is an adult now, but he is no less enraptured with Lunafreya than when they first met as teenagers.

There is a sharp knock at the door, and Gladio immediately goes to answer it. Ignis expects Bellum to deliver a dinner cart; and while that is correct, Ignis did not anticipate King Regis and Clarus Amicitia to enter the room before it.

Ignis immediately sweeps into a low bow, just as Gladio does after shutting the door. Noctis stays seated on the couch, tossing out an almost-excited _hey, Dad._ But it is Lunafreya who surprises him.

She does get to her feet after she sets aside the pillow, but she does not bow, and Ignis is reminded yet again that she is Regis’s equal as a head of state, even if she is letting Noctis hang onto her hand instead of pulling away.

“Lunafreya,” the king says, his voice suffused with a tired warmth. “Would that we were reunited in less dire circumstances. I am sorry for your loss.”

“King Regis,” Lunafreya says, and Ignis is a little surprised by—he’s not sure how to describe it, but something in the quality of her voice has changed. There is—not quite hard, not quite sharp—a _defined_ edge to her words. “Thank you for your sympathy. I have a message to deliver.”

Ignis inhales more loudly than he should at the implication, but he manages to keep his composure better than Noctis, who gapes up at Lunafreya in astonishment. Regis and Clarus take the news stoically; perhaps this isn’t the first time Lunafreya has made this announcement in their presence.

“I am prepared to receive it,” Regis says simply.

“The prophesied hour is at hand,” Lunafreya says. “It is time for the Oracle to wake the sleeping gods, and for the Chosen King to follow in her footsteps. He must gather the weapons of his ancestors and prepare to banish the darkness.”

The silence afterwards is complete, and Ignis reminds himself to breathe despite the weight of the divine pressing down upon him.

Regis bows his head, and the sudden weariness in the king’s expression makes Ignis wish he weren’t here to witness such a vulnerable moment. “Mr. Argentum truly is the third, then?”

“He is,” Noctis says. He climbs to his feet, still holding Lunafreya’s hand. “Dad—I’m ready. Let me do this.”

Standing together, hands linked, Noctis and Lunafreya are almost the fulfillment of prophecy. Noctis is eager to go out into the world, yes, but the desire for his father’s blessing gives him an anxious air. Lunafreya carries herself royally, despite her attire, though her face is far more difficult to read.

They look like a divinely appointed team.

Regis looks up, and his acceptance is obvious even before he speaks. “Niflheim has taken Tenebrae, and there is little doubt that Insomnia will be next. If we are to stand a chance against it, you must have the gods’ blessings and the Royal Arms.”

Noct’s answering smile makes Ignis’s heart ache even though it isn’t aimed at him. “I need to tell Prompto and connect him to the Crystal. And we need to start planning the trip. We’ll need a map for the tombs—”

“You need to attend dinner first,” Ignis says as lightly as he can and tries to ignore the scowl Noctis sends his way. He looks to Lunafreya. “Unless the Astrals’ command is that urgent.”

Something interesting happens to Lunafreya’s expression, but whatever it is disappears in an instant. “While we shouldn’t delay, it would be foolish to begin this journey without the proper preparations. And I would appreciate more time to rest.”

Noctis turns to her immediately. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Noctis.” Her smile is soft and warm. “It has been a few harrowing days, that is all. Go to your dinner, and I will see you tomorrow. We can begin planning then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DID YOU SEE THAT SOFT HAND HOLDING aaaaaah thank you again [kai](https://twitter.com/peachesand_jam)!!!!
> 
> Yes, this chapter is short, but! We sure hope you guys are still into ritual stuff because we have a (7k-word) treat in store for you next time. :D


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m gonna fuck this up,” Prompto whispers. Noct’s hands slide over his shoulders and Prompto wishes, wants, aches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO MORE CHAPTERS can you believe it? We really can't. Seriously - thank you for all your comments on the last chapter! Your support means the world to us. 
> 
> With the last chapter next week, we hope you enjoy how this chapter steers us towards the end! This chapter features art by [nools](https://twitter.com/N00ling) !

It’s the norm now for Prompto to feel some range of nervous energy as he makes his way to work. But today he really wishes that his feelings would stay locked away in his apartment so he could work in peace.

But considering how strongly those feelings have taken root in his chest since yesterday, there’s no way he can run away from them.

He spent the night in his comfiest, largest hoodie huddled under a blanket and playing video games so that his hands were too distracted to reach for his phone. And that worked, except that he stayed awake until the sun started to rise because he was also scared of what would happen if he let his imagination run wild.

He covers a yawn with one hand as he exits the train and heads for the Citadel. He had managed a few hours of sleep before getting ready for work, but it almost feels worse to have slept for so little versus not sleeping at all. Prompto secretly hopes today will take them out of the apartment so that he can stay moving and not risk falling asleep.

Again.

It feels like it’s just another day until Prompto opens the door to Noct’s suite. The foyer is crowded with Scaevola, his trainee, _and_ four Kingsglaives he doesn’t recognize. Prompto freezes in the doorway and worries for a beat that the other shoe has dropped, that Insomnia was under attack and somehow Prompto missed it and—

He hears laughter. Lunafreya and Noct’s, mixing together out of sight and it all comes crashing back down with relief.

He hopes he wasn’t actually standing there for minutes on end staring with his mouth open and that only a second or so had passed. He salutes Scaevola and the trainee, and they pass him to exit.

Prompto stands against the wall, unsure what to do. If the room was clear, he would normally be peeking out, or texting Noct to see if the coast was clear. But these guards, they don’t know Prompto. They only know his job is like theirs—to protect their charges.

The guards are standing quietly at attention, so Prompto stays still, staring at the wall. It’s basically the worst-case scenario because Prompto can’t do anything to distract himself from the spiral he’s been avoiding.

There’s another voice then—Ignis, Prompto can tell by the tone but doesn’t quite get the words, and then a rumble of a laugh from Gladio as Lunafreya’s voice says something that sounds like _don’t be silly._

They all sound happy. Like Lunafreya was the last piece of the puzzle they were missing to be complete.

Prompto takes in a steadying breath and flexes his hands a few times. It makes sense—Lunafreya is a queen, to Noct’s future as king. She understands all the things Noctis has to go through, will have to go through, and has gone through, more than anyone else. She’s calming and kind.

Prompto thinks again about how tightly Noctis clung to her here just the day before, and it almost breaks him.

Maybe she suggested Prompto befriend Noctis because she never assumed she would be here, instead of in Tenebrae. Maybe now, with how things are going, his own fate has changed. Prompto hopes that he can at least stay on Noct’s guard.

“Oh?” Lunafreya says a touch louder. When she appears in the foyer, every guard plasters themselves against the walls, including Prompto. She makes wearing a sweater and jeans look regal.

“Prompto.” She almost sounds like she’s reprimanding him for like, sticking his hand in the cookie jar or something. He snaps up a little more and salutes.

Lunafreya steps forward and takes his right hand away from his chest, pulling him through the suite and into the office. “Stop that, come on in.”

“I. Yes, Your Majesty—”

“Shush shush,” she releases him and waves at him as she sits next to Noct on the couch nearest the wall. Ignis sits opposite them, and Gladio’s presence is immediately terrifying as he shuts the doors behind Prompto before joining Ignis.

Lunafreya pats the seat next to her on the couch. “Please, sit!”

Prompto stares at the four of them. He isn’t in the office very often except when he and Noct are looking something up on the computer, and certainly never has had a reason to be in there _with the door shut._

They don’t look mad, like he’s done something wrong. They are smiling, and Prompto thinks maybe they have all been replaced with doppelgangers and now they are going to get Prompto’s in place and—

“He looks like he’s about to pass out.” Noctis sighs and leans forward, “Just tell him, Specs.”

“Tell...me?” He just looks at Noctis for now, who grins that dopey half smile and nope, this is a bad idea. Prompto decides to sit, because then he can stare at Ignis and Gladio instead of the others.

“What’s going on?”

Ignis shares a look with Lunafreya, which immediately puts Prompto on edge. She gives one slow nod, and then Ignis appears to be thinking through what to say next.

“Everything okay? You guys are freaking me out.”

“The time has come for Noctis to start his journey as the Chosen King.”

Prompto remembers bits and pieces of what that means; Noctis would leave Insomnia, finally get to travel outside the city walls, to fulfil his destiny.

“How do you know?” Prompto works to not show the worry he’s feeling. He knew there would be a time when they would leave, and he only hoped he could go with them.

“The Oracle delivered the message to His Majesty.” Ignis motions to Lunafreya. “Everything has fallen into place so that Lunafreya can wake the gods and Noctis can go through the covenants to receive their blessings.”

“And we need to get the Royal Arms,” Gladio chimes in, “in order to make sure Noctis can do this.”

Prompto works through what they are saying, and it makes sense. Lunafreya being there of course makes things easier for them to start this journey. She’s a direct line to the gods, she has amazing abilities, and she is someone Noct can lean on no matter who is around.

He should be happy for Noct, really, that he can finally step outside and see the world.

“I—” Prompto pauses and clears his throat. “I would like to offer up my service.” He bows forward enough to be able to stare at his feet on the carpet instead of them. This way when they tell him no, he doesn’t have to see the pity in their faces. “If you’ll have me.”

“Oh my, Prompto,” Lunafreya whispers and moves closer. Prompto resists the urge to pull away when she places a hand on his arm.

“Dude.”

Prompto looks up to see Noct, just behind her, with a hard look in his eyes.

“You think I would leave without you?”

“I…”

“Apologies, Prompto,” Ignis steps in. “Please let me explain. We didn’t mean to make you believe we would be going without you.”

“You aren’t?”

“Quite the opposite, actually.”

“We couldn’t leave without you.” Lunafreya squeezes his arm.

That doesn’t make sense to Prompto. He sits up and pulls his arm away a little.

“We’ve spoken before,” Ignis says slowly, “about the meaning behind Noct’s destiny. As the Chosen King, and his connection to the Crystal.”

Prompto keeps his focus on Ignis, and nods.

“I didn’t elaborate about another aspect of the prophecy at the time, because we weren’t sure yet and didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“Specs, you are drawing this out so much.”

Ignis is the one to clear his throat. “Right then. Another part of the prophecy goes, _‘O'er rotted soil, under blighted sky, a dread plague the wicked hath wrought. In the light of the gods, Swordsworn at his side 'gainst the dark the King's battle is fought.”_

“The Cosmogony says there are three Swordsworn who will accompany the Chosen King. Each with their own role that they must fulfill. Gladio was the first. I am the second.”

Noct looks like he’s about to burst as he leans further over Lunafreya. “And now I have my third.”

Prompto swallows down the disappointment. “...who?”

Lunafreya takes Prompto’s hand in both of hers, and he nearly jumps up out of his seat. He slowly turns and she gently tightens her grip.

“Prompto, _you’re_ my third.” Noctis smiles widely, genuinely, and Lunafreya looks like she might cry. “You. We’ve been looking for you, all this time.”

Prompto blinks and takes a breath. “...me?”

Lunafreya and Noct are nodding in unison. Prompto clings to Lunafreya’s hands like a lifeline in the middle of the ocean.

“Yes,” Lunafreya says softly, “ _he is as of the grains of sand in the desert,_ _sanctified not by the Six but by the selection.”_

Prompto blinks. “And you. You think...that’s me?”

“We very much know. And,” Ignis motions towards Lunafreya, “it has been confirmed by the Oracle.”

Prompto inhales deeply. “Oh.”

“Prompto,” Lunafreya pulls him into a hug. He is mindful of his arms as he returns it. Noctis has one hand on her back, and his fingertips graze Prompto’s wrist where Ignis and Gladio can’t see. When Prompto makes eye contact with Noctis, he feels like he’s about to cry.

“It was the will of the gods that you ended up here. Out of all the people who could have come through the Citadel doors, you were the one who got here.”

Noctis slides his hand back down and pulls away. “I know it’s you. I can feel it.”

And that does it. Prompto doesn’t even understand what this all really means, but he can’t think about it because he’s sobbing and tightening his hold on Lunafreya, crying into the Queen of Tenebrae’s shoulder.

The week flies by and is slow all at once for Prompto. His time at the Citadel turns from guard duty to cram sessions with the others, because apparently, they can’t take things at a chill pace.

Prompto gets it, there’s a war out there and it’s creeping up on them. But Prompto would really like some more time aside from nights in his bed to think about all of this, to replay the words said to him about his _fate_ and _destiny_ and how he fits into Noct’s world more than he ever imagined possible.

To think more about the way his heart speeds up every time he and Noct are left alone for any period of time. How Noctis scoots closer.

Prompto has seen how Noctis also leans against Lunafreya, when they are all together. He tells himself it’s because Prompto is still a secret. And so is Ignis.

The ritual to become Noct’s third, it has a weight to it. It’s all about preparing for not only becoming this appointed person to the Chosen King, but it’s also about Noctis touching Prompto, in front of _people_. Priests. Lunafreya. Gladio. King Regis.

To all of them, this takes hours to prepare for, so that Prompto is in his most pure state to accept the Noct’s blessing and to be connected to the Crystal and the powers that come with it. And he respects that, he really does, but by the end of the week, Prompto has so many notebooks full of scribbles that he thinks he’s gonna fuck this up.

So when Prompto steps out in his robes and sees how Noctis looks at him, he definitely wants to throw up.

Ignis is with Lunafreya to get everything prepared in the temple. Gladio is outside the door with a retinue of Kingsglaives and priests.

Noctis is in similar robes, though with extra royal flair. He looks way better than Prompto imagines he does, though.

Prompto doesn’t say what he wants to and instead steps in front of the full-length mirror and inspects himself. The robe is like what he wore for the training purification, but fancier. The material is soft, a deep black, with long sleeves and a cloak that sharpens his shoulders. There is gold embroidery all over, branches sprouting up from his wrists and along his forearms, from the bottom of the cloak and crawling up his back, from his feet and encircling his calves.

The cloak has a hood, which Prompto will wear over his head until he kneels in front of Noctis.

His fingers trace the golden lines on his right arm. When he was first told about this process, he went out and bought a nice band to wrap around his wrist. He hopes that no one sees it and tells him to take it off.

“Hey.” Noct’s voice makes him jump a little.

Prompto turns and shakes his hands down so the sleeves fall long, almost to his knees.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Noctis moves closer. He slowly lifts his hands and keeps his eyes on Prompto.

“I’m gonna fuck this up,” Prompto whispers. Noct’s hands slide over his shoulders and Prompto wishes, wants, aches.

“You won’t.” Noct’s hands take up the hood, and he slowly pulls it up and frames it around Prompto’s face. His hands slide to Prompto’s shoulders and Noct’s smiling softly.

Prompto remembers to breathe.

“But what if I forget what I’m supposed to do or say. It’s just me and the priests, you—none of you are there.”

Noct squeezes his shoulders. It’s so crazy to think that even this moment would get Prompto banished if anyone saw, and that he has to go through so much just so Noctis can do exactly this in the temple.

“Hey, you’re thinking and not talking.” Noctis’s voice is calm, so much calmer than how Prompto feels.

“I just.” Prompto takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling even though that means the hood falls back. “You guys all say it’s me, but how do you _know_. What if I get into the ritual and the priests say ‘nope’? Or the Astrals, like. I don’t know—smite me for even trying. What if they _know_ , and they take me down—”

Noct’s hands slide up to cradle his neck and Prompto almost cries.

“Prompto. Look at me?”

He swallows. He fights the urge not to look at Noctis and instead meets his stare.

“Luna just confirmed what I felt. What Ignis and Gladio saw. But I knew, before anyone told me, that it was you.”

Noctis once again goes and pulls the hood back up over Prompto’s head. “You just...fit. The moment we met. Right?”

Prompto nods and bites his lower lip to keep from crying. “I just...it’s. A lot. I’m just me, you know?”

“Exactly.” Noctis pulls away, and Prompto nearly leans forward to try to keep the contact a little longer. “You’re _you_.”

Noctis smiles, and it’s like the last piece Prompto is protecting gets exposed and his fear and pain become an ache centered squarely over his fucking heart.

A quick succession of knocks breaks the silence. Noctis takes a few steps back. “Come in.”

Gladio opens the door and first looks over Noctis, then Prompto. “This takes me back. You ready?”

Prompto adjusts his hood a little so it covers more of his forehead. He really wishes he could just hide his whole face. “Gotta be, right?”

With a chuckle, Gladio motions for them both to follow him out the door. Noctis is ushered into the middle of a circle of priests, dressed in the same robes as when Prompto did the training ritual, including the creepy hoods that obscure their faces. Gladio falls in behind them as they make their way down the long hallway and go to the right at the end.

Prompto has his own entourage of priests who surround him once Noctis has disappeared.

They are on the move, with the two priests ahead of him swinging their incense burners as they walk to the end of the hallway and go left. It’s silent except for the sound of their footsteps on the floor, of their robes all dragging the floor. In a way Prompto doesn’t mind—he prefers this to the public, or even anyone really, watching him fumble through this process. He hopes the priests at least are required to stay silent by law or something.

Soon they enter a room that is not unlike the ones he saw in the training area—the ceiling adorned with black ribbons, and the walls are rock with blue shimmering throughout. In the middle of the room is a fountain, one much fancier than any Prompto has seen before. Instead of wood it looks carved out of black stone.

This is the first step in this process.

The priests open a space in front of Prompto for him to step up to the fountain. He claps his hands together as loudly as he can to alert the Astrals to his presence, Ignis had said. Unlike all the other times, in this moment Prompto has to recite the same thing Ignis did, and Gladio, to request the Astrals’ blessing.

“Titan,” Prompto’s voice sounds small as it bounces off the walls around him. “I beseech you, so that I may walk alongside the Chosen King.”

He goes through the same process as every day, washing his hands, drinking the water, and then repeats the words for the next Astral, and does it again. This is when he is supposed to be blessed by the Astrals so that he can receive the powers of the Crystal.

Prompto had asked Ignis what happens if the gods turn him down, and Ignis didn’t have an answer. So he can’t help but brace for a beat each time he claps his hands, each time he sips the water, waiting for something to burn him or freeze him or _something_ to show that the others were wrong, that he shouldn’t be standing here right now.

He finishes the final prayer to Bahamut and steps back into the circle of priests.

There are no words from the priests, so Prompto has zero idea if he’s doing anything wrong, but he assumes he’s good so far. When he turns to face the other direction, he sees a long and narrow black carpet on the ground. He knows he’s supposed to only walk on that now, and that Noctis will be doing the same. Noctis touching Prompto is one thing, but there is also the whole—soul purity thing, because Prompto will be getting connected to Noctis, to the Crystal, to Ignis and Gladio.

At the door, priests open umbrellas that they lift over Prompto. The whole idea is that Prompto exists in this bubble of cleanliness; the incense keeps any negative energy away, and the umbrellas ensure nothing slips by after being blessed. It’s really hard to take this seriously when faced with how intense this whole process is on paper. Going through it is entirely different.

He keeps forgetting to breathe, shit. He inhales and clamps his mouth tight after getting a big gulp of incense, coughing quietly.

They go through a door that takes them down a long hallway lit only by candles. At the end of the hallway, the leading priest opens the door and they enter what looks like a small waiting room of some sort—

Noctis is there, with his own circle of priests, with his own incense burners and umbrellas. The priests part so that they form two lines on either side of them.

Prompto nearly forgets _he_ has to step forward. He tries not to blush at Noct’s smile when he quickly walks up, just an arm’s length away. He bows at the waist. They have to play this game, with all these priests around.

Noctis refused to tell Prompto about this part. All Ignis and Gladio had said was this was the step before the actual ritual, and that this was how Noctis showed the priests and gods that this is the person he has chosen.

When Prompto straightens, Noctis is holding a box, about the size of his hand, covered in lush velvet.

It’s a jewelry box.

Prompto stares at it as Noctis opens the box to reveal a necklace—the moment feels weirdly intimate, interrupted by a priest coming close enough to take the box from Noctis and take the necklace out before placing it around Prompto’s neck.

Prompto touches it—there’s a small skull that acts as an anchor and has more small stones hanging from it. Immediately, he sees the connection—Ignis and Gladio’s necklaces both suit them but have skulls incorporated as well. This necklace, it _feels_ like Prompto’s.

“It’s lava stone, labradorite, and bronze.” Noctis speaks slowly, as if the words were memorized. “The lava stone is from the Disc of Cauthess. The Labradorite is from the underwater caves of Altissia.”

Prompto focuses his gaze down at the skull. “It’s...it’s beautiful.”

He wishes he could hug Noctis.

Instead, they are both ushered back into their circles and Noct’s leads the way out of the room. Soon they are at the tall golden doors of the temple.

The temple for this ceremony is the smaller one reserved for the royal family and their guests, ensuring that Noctis doesn’t need to worry about others entering if he is ever inside. And given how little Noctis does visit the temple, Prompto had needed to accompany him yet.

Which is a shame, because now Prompto is just staring with an open mouth as they walk through the doors. Lining the walls on either side are beautiful dark marble statues of the Astrals, eyes gazing down at those who walk past. There are very few rows of seats since it is a smaller space, and so the statues seem towering with the high vaulted ceiling.

The priests move quietly and tightly choreographed to walk single file up the center of the room. The incense is immediately thick in the air. At the front he can see the King, Shield Amicitia, Gladio, Ignis, and Lunafreya. All but Lunafreya are dressed in their finest royal garb and uniforms. Lunafreya is in the same style of outfit as Noctis, but all white with gold trim. Everyone sparkles with the light of the hundreds of candles lit around the altar.

Noctis walks up first, then Prompto. By the time he's at the altar, a small pew has been set directly in front of Noctis.

Prompto’s heart is in his throat, beating hard and fast and he might pass out. He feels like he’s not in control of his body as he kneels slowly and keeps his hands hanging at his sides. When he looks up at Noctis, though, he relaxes. He has to just focus on Noct—not on the priests, or the gods, or anyone else.

He’s here for Noctis.

Noctis reaches out and pulls the hood away from Prompto’s face. Prompto fights the urge to fix his hair.

Lunafreya stands behind Noctis on the next step so she is taller, and lifts both her hands up.

“Almighty Astrals, I beseech you, bear witness so that the Chosen King and his Swordsworn shall walk with you. As your humble servant, I beg you give them peace with your voice. Almighty Astrals, I beseech you to show your mercy.”

Everything is still and quiet. Noctis lifts his hands, sliding his fingers along Prompto’s temples and hair. Prompto doesn't look anywhere else. He doesn't look to see how anyone feels about this, about Prompto being the one to get this rite.

Noctis closes his eyes. So Prompto does as well, even though he doesn’t want to. For half a second nothing happens, and Prompto worries this was all some sort of trick by the Astrals, or maybe even Noctis. But he thinks it's more likely the gods than anything else.

But then there’s a flash of blue like lighting in his mind, almost like he had his eyes open, but he doesn't. Where Noct touches him is warm, nearing hot, but Prompto doesn’t pull away. He holds still as the warmth sears through his body.

The warmth gives way to a cooling sensation, like when Prompto inhales through his mouth after having a mint, but inside his body. He sees arcs of blue in front of his closed eyes—it’s the same magic as when Noctis warps.

Suddenly Prompto feels something simultaneously pulling the air right from his lungs and pressing his body to the floor. He can’t hear anything, but he feels Noct’s hands grip a little tighter. Prompto remembers, briefly, the news about Regis falling ill during a Kingsglaive ceremony and he worries about Noct, if he’s alright.

Just as quickly, Prompto is able to take a deep breath again, and he opens his eyes wide as he does.

Noctis stares down at him, looking only a little tired. Blue wisps of magic swirl around Noct’s arms and around Prompto’s face. They fade as Noctis pulls away, and Prompto has to fight not to let his body follow those hands.

“The Chosen King has bonded with his third Swordsworn, and the Astrals have given their blessing,” Lunafreya says loud enough for the words to echo around them.

Prompto brings a hand up to his chest—he can feel something that is just outside of his reach, but still near enough. It’s such a strange sensation but also one that feels…

Like he finally found what he’s been looking for, all this time. Purpose. Family. Strength. Devotion.

When Prompto dares to lift his face, he meets Noctis’s smile, and returns it.

Being one of Noct’s Swordsworn means that there is no rest. Prompto’s life is dedicated to Noctis now, because they have Things To Do. Each day that passes, things draw closer to the boiling point for Insomnia.

So Prompto gets right into things the day after the ceremony. He doesn’t have guard duty anymore, but instead he’s at the training grounds with Gladio. Ignis and Noctis couldn't join, as they had to go over maps with Cor and Lunafreya.

There’s a weird part of Prompto that worries this means he won’t see Noctis as often, or have those quiet times when they can just chill on the couch and watch dumb movies, or play video games like they are just a couple of buddies hanging out.

Then Prompto reaches out for the Armiger, to feel that connection, and he remembers what he has gained.

There’s no one else around—which is better for Prompto, because today he’s got to learn how to use all his new fancy tricks that come with this connection to the Crystal.

“You feel it, right?” Gladio asks as he stretches his arms over his head.

Prompto nods. “It’s weird, I couldn't sleep much last night because I think my brain was convinced I was about to get attacked.”

Gladio laughs. “It takes some getting used to. Becomes like having a third arm or something.” With that, Gladio holds out his right hand and his broadsword appears in a flash of blue crystalized specks of magic.

Prompto gapes a little because it’s still really cool to see. “Okay so, how do I do _that_?”

“First, you need to practice putting something _in._ ” Gladio motions over to the array of wooden weapons he’s piled on the ground. He grabs one of the polearms and tosses it to Prompto.

“These?” Prompto raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t get cocky. We’re starting easy so you don't cut your arm or something.”

Prompto freezes with both hands on the polearm. “Wait, is that possible?”

All Gladio does is shrug which definitely does not make Prompto feel better. “Not if you’re careful. We’ll start slow, but I’m not gonna go easy on ya.”

“Wouldn't expect you to,” Prompto holds the pole out with his right hand, unsure what he is supposed to do next. “So...how do I do this?”

Gladio mimics his stance with his sword. “You need to think like you’re putting something away. I imagine opening a door and throwing whatever it is inside.”

“What about getting it back?”

“I said we’re starting slow.”

“Fine fine.” Prompto stares at the polearm and tries to focus on the sensation at the border of his mind. He licks his lips, takes a breath, closes his eyes, and throws the pole to his right.

It clatters on the floor. Prompto opens his eyes.

“Huh,” he just stares at it a second.

“Again,” Gladio orders, and so Prompto grabs it and keeps trying.

A few hours later Prompto is sweating even though he’s hardly done any actual fighting. It’s a surprisingly hard mental work out, more than he had anticipated.

But he _did_ get his weapon into the Armiger three times. So that counts as progress. However, pulling things out of the Armiger is a whole other story. It takes sharp focus even when there’s chaos all around, and Prompto has never been the best at being calm.

Prompto tries to hide his disappointment in himself as he drops the wooden weapons they had worked with back into their storage.

“Tomorrow we’ll focus on getting your gear out.”

“Yippee.” Prompto laughs nervously and stretches his back a little. “I thought it would be like.” He makes a few vague gestures with his hands. “Easy. Poof. Magic.”

Gladio grabs his duffel bag and swings it over his shoulder. “If it were so easy, everyone would have it.”

“I mean, a lot of Glaives have it, right? So it can’t be that hard.”

“You know how many Glaives puke the first time they even try this? Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

With a hum, Prompto shrugs a little. Gladio gives him a concerned look, and Prompto inwardly groans at himself.

“You’re fine, sorry, I’m just...it’s a lot of pressure. I’m still getting caught up with all of it, I think.” He collects his own bag and distracts himself with taking a drink from his bottle of water.

“I get you. Just remember, Iggy and I, we’ve been through this as well. We can help.”

A bit of guilt builds up in Prompto’s throat. Gladio looks to Prompto as someone he can trust, as someone who believes in the same things he does, and Ignis and Prompto are...what? Committing basically the most taboo thing probably to Gladio and all he’s worked for in his life.

But Prompto shoves that back down and gives Gladio his best ‘fake it till you make it’ smile.

“Thanks, big guy.”

That does the trick, because Gladio laughs and swings an arm around Prompto’s shoulders. “Now, let’s get cleaned up, you have an appointment to get your new uniform.”

“New uniform?”

“I mean, haven’t you ever wondered why Ignis and I aren’t in the same getup as you all the time?”

“I mean, no? You guys are like.” Prompto waves at Gladio as they step into the locker room. “You've been around for a long time, right? And as Noct’s Swordsworn...so I just figured you guys get a free pass on some things.”

“Well, we do get to look cool.” Gladio winks, and Prompto rolls his eyes.

“Can’t we just like. Wait, until I don’t know tomorrow. Or something.” Prompto keeps his eyes looking up at the ceiling so he doesn’t have to face his reflection in the mirror.

Gladio elbows him in the side. “Don’t be so dramatic, you look great. Check us out.”

Against his better judgement and anxiety, Prompto lowers his chin to come face to face with their image.

He hadn’t realized that when Gladio said they were going to get his new uniform, they would get it right then. Prompto figured there would be delays? Ordering? But no, they were able to get things right off the rack.

Prompto thought about Gladio’s outfits, and Ignis’s, and he worries he tried too hard to match up to them. Was that silly? Dorky? Lame? All of the above he is sure.

Prompto tugs at the sleeves of his jacket. It’s similar to Gladio’s, instead of a blazer like Ignis, but with a larger collar that’s popped out, and he likes that dramatic effect but...

His shirt is a fun pattern of lines, and there’s a weird part of him that felt like that was almost… like showing some of himself without anyone knowing, without knowing there were lines across his wrist.

His jacket and gloves cover that tattoo, but for good measure he had also selected some new bracelets to wear.

His pants are like Ignis’s coeurl print shirt but more muted. He got some sick kneepads and holsters and boots.

Gladio crosses his arms and smirks. He’s got on his dark green jacket, khaki pants, and boots.

But most important of note is their necklaces. They both catch the elevator lights, and that feeling, of them being the only ones in the whole of Eos, who have these, punches Prompto in the gut.

“Okay, fine,” Prompto nudges Gladio back. “We do look kinda badass.”

“Damn right.”

Right on cue the elevator pings and the doors open. As they near the door to Noct’s place, they can hear laughter from within.

“Sounds like Luna’s here.”

That makes Prompto’s nervousness spike up to one hundred for a variety of annoying reasons. “Cool, cool. Cool.”

Gladio smirks and opens the door without knocking. Ateos and his trainee salute, and Prompto has a weird existential moment when he remembers he isn’t swapping with a guard. He isn’t just starting his shift; he doesn’t have to stand and wait at attention until he knows it’s safe to walk into the room.

Gladio and Prompto walk right past them, and into the living room. Prompto feels a little dizzy.

Entering the living room and it’s another crisis of his heart. Lunafreya and Noctis are on the couch, a blanket shared between them and shoulders touching as they both wave. Their smiles leave Prompto grinning like an idiot. Ignis is at the small dining table, laptop open and notes strewn all around.

Gladio moves immediately to Ignis. “What’re you up to?”

Ignis gives Gladio a Look Prompto has quickly learned is his _do not_ look. “Someone has to plan for this trip, there’s a lot to keep track of.”

Prompto hides a small laugh by turning to face the other two. They are sitting squarely in front of the TV, so Prompto takes a seat on the far right - Lunafreya is between him and Noctis, so hopefully Gladio shouldn’t think anything of it.

Noctis looks over Lunafreya. “Specs, it’s fine, it’s not like we have to pack.”

“We will not just toss everything in and not have any note of what we are bringing, Noct.”

Noctis throws his head back onto the couch. “What’s the point of using the Armiger if you are still gonna act like we are packing for reals.”

“Wait,” Prompto interrupts because, “you mean the Armiger is for more than weapons?”

Noct’s eyes widen and glimmer with excitement. “Oh man, Gladio you didn’t tell him?”

“We just barely got through him putting weapons in, give the kid a break.”

Prompto spun around to glare at Gladio. “I’m not a kid!”

“Ah, Prompto, you look dashing by the way,” Lunafreya’s voice breaks through their shouts.

The room comes to a screeching halt and Prompto stops breathing as he turns back to look at her.

“H-huh?”

“Oh shit ya, you got your first outfit!”

“Oh um, ya.” Prompto clears his throat. “It feels weird, walking around the Citadel like this.”

“I’m sure you will get used to it.” Lunafreya scoots over and leans forward. Prompto freezes and looks over her at Noctis—

She touches the necklace resting on Prompto’s sternum. “Oh, it’s beautiful, Noctis.”

“Right?” Noctis is still looking at Prompto, and Prompto feels his face is on fire because there is something almost possessive in that look. “I gotta make sure people know who he is.”

“Yup! Super cool! Ya!” Prompto pulls back and crosses his arms and legs. “What are you guys watching?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lunafreya looks back at Noct, then Prompto, before returning to her spot beside Noctis.

“Noctis is indulging me. I have been missing this show on ancient mysteries.”

Noctis blows a raspberry, and she smacks his knee. “It’s a lot of bogus guessing, to be honest.”

“Noctis,” Lunafreya chides, but she’s smiling, “I find it extremely interesting _and_ potentially useful to see what we have been able to learn from the little that is left of the ancient civilization of Solheim. While I was traveling through Duscae, I couldn’t believe some of the ruins that were just laying around, untouched, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”

She’s focused on the screen as a group of archaeologists are digging around a pillar. “And consider, there could be so much more out there that has been covered by thousands of years of growth and dirt and changes in the world, and we don’t even know it’s there.”

“She’s right,” Ignis says from the table, “with what we must do, we should consider all possibilities. We need all the help we can get.”

A silence settles over them as Ignis and Gladio talk low at the table, and the three of them watch the show. Prompto sits back to get comfortable. He isn’t sure exactly how much time they have before they start their journey, but he feels like moments like this, they are precious. Them all just sitting, watching a show, making jokes.

Prompto feels a bit like he’s watching the last scene of a movie before everything goes to shit. He feels a little shaky as a flutter of panic forms in his chest; there isn’t anything to be freaking out about, but there is still that part of him that says _this kind of stuff doesn’t happen_. He takes in a deep breath and tries to sink back against the couch, and not touch the stone of his necklace like he has been doing constantly since he got it.

A sudden chill goes up Prompto’s spine and he shivers. He doesn’t see any vents, and he isn’t sure he’s ever felt _cold_ in here. Lunafreya and Noctis don’t seem to feel it, so he turns in his seat to see if Ignis or Gladio feels cold.

As he does, he sees a woman standing in the foyer, just past the guards.

“Don’t move!” Prompto shouts as he leaps over the couch and materializes a gun into his hand. He stands at the other end of the foyer, gun pointed at her. The guards have also pulled their guns out, but Prompto wonders how and why they let her inside at all.

Gladio and Ignis are instantly at his sides flanking him. Prompto doesn't look to see if Noct and Lunafreya have moved.

“Who are you,” Prompto demands. The woman doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at him.

Ignis rests a hand on Prompto’s arm. “It’s all right, Prompto. Stand down.”

The guards holster their guns, but Prompto does not. She’s creepy, standing there in really fancy robes, her eyes half lidded as she finally looks at them.

“Ignis, what’s going on?”

“Put the gun away.” Ignis catches his eye and nods. “She is no threat to us.”

“Gentiana!” Lunafreya says from behind them. It’s only then Prompto relaxes, stepping back and lowering his gun as he watches.

Lunafreya moves past them and into the foyer. Prompto looks down at the gun.

Gladio raises a brow. “Where did you get that?”

“I, uh,” Prompto looks back up at the foyer, then puts the gun into the holster he had. “It just kinda. Happened. I remembered we had put one in there, during practice and just.”

Both Gladio’s eyebrows are halfway up his forehead. “Huh, didn’t see that coming.”

Prompto really didn’t care about the Armiger in that moment. “Okay, but seriously, what is going on?”

“Gentiana is a Messenger,” Lunafreya explains as she leads Gentiana into the room, and they all take a few steps back. “She is a spirit, who is faithful to the Oracle. Much like Pryna and Umbra.”

Prompto feels really fucking silly now. “Oh…”

Noctis steps in beside Lunafreya and bows to Gentiana, who makes the slightest move that he assumes is an acknowledgement.

“So I almost shot a divine being, cool.” Prompto steps back further, behind Gladio. “I’m sorry!”

“The Astrals show their favor to the Chosen King and the Oracle, who have been reunited.”

When Prompto peeks, Gentiana is standing just inside the living room, hands folded in front of her and looking right at him.

Prompto blinks. He looks at Lunafreya, who is beaming. Before he can say anything further, Gentiana steps closer.

“We are honored to see you, Lady Gentiana,” Ignis says. He and Gladio salute, and Prompto clumsily comes out of hiding and does the same.

She lifts one hand up. “Shield of the King, you have done well to prepare the Chosen King for the perils this journey will take him on. The Astrals thank you.”

Gladio puffs up a little at that.

Prompto swears there’s something familiar in Gentiana’s voice, which is impossible of course. Maybe it’s because she has an accent similar to Lunafreya’s, and he hasn’t been around many Tenebraens.

“Hand of the King,” Gentiana looks to Ignis next, and he straightens his shoulders, “the Chosen King has learned much under your tutelage. The Astrals thank you.”

Prompto suddenly feels like he’s watching something very intimate and formal. He starts to try to fade back.

“Light of the King.”

Everyone turns to Prompto, and he slams his right hand over his heart. Gentiana takes steps closer to him, and it looks like she’s floating. His heart is beating hard against his hand.

“The Chosen King’s future was still uncertain, clouded and dark, but now he can move forward, with you by his side.”

Prompto feels something well up, and he risks a glance at Noctis. He’s still standing next to Lunafreya, watching the exchange, and his expression isn’t one Prompto can read easily.

Without any further clarification, Gentiana turns to Lunafreya. “By the grace of the gods, the Blood of the Oracle has come to rest beneath the Stone.”

Lunafreya lets out a small gasp and grabs Noct’s arm, but instead of looking upset, she’s smiling widely.

Ignis’s phone pings. He apologizes as he pulls it from his pocket. Gladio casually peers over Ignis’s shoulder.

“Sorry, did you say _blood_?” Prompto says out loud, because no one else looks at all concerned.

“Specs?”

When Ignis doesn’t reply right away, all attention turns to him. He clears his throat and looks up from his phone to address Lunafreya.

“Your Majesty, Lord Ravus has been discovered on the steps of the Citadel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was A LOT and if you stayed until the end of this chapter thank you so much, please let us know what you thought~~! Prompto did it, he's in, they're doing stuff, they're planning, what could possibly go wrong right? 
> 
> Also can I scream some more about this art? That [nools](https://twitter.com/N00ling) did? CAN I PLEASE. Give them lots of love! 
> 
> Some additional quick shout outs! 
> 
> \- Prompto's new uniform was inspired by this mod by [NightysWolf](https://nightyswolf.tumblr.com/post/177373144959/crowes-outfit-for-comrades-modelled-onto-prompto). *_*  
> \- The outfits for this ritual were once again inspired by [Gareth Pugh](https://www.vogue.com/fashion-shows/designer/gareth-pugh)  
> \- Prompto's necklace was inspired by [this design](https://www.etsy.com/listing/777570070/lava-stone-laboradite-bronze-skull?ref=rv_more-1-15)  
> \- The whole process leading up to the crystal connecting shenanigans was inspired by the [enthronement of the Japanese Emperor ceremony](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enthronement_of_the_Japanese_emperor#:~:text=The%20enthronement%20of%20the%20emperor,the%20course%20of%20the%20rite), because I am a sucker for this kind of stuff apparently.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When you return,” Regis says, “I will share the burden of the Ring with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONE ty for your kind words on chapter 19, seriously. <3
> 
> And now it’s time for our final chapter. Thank you so much for your kudos, your comments, and your enthusiasm for this story. Here’s hoping we wrap it up nicely for you all.
> 
> Our first piece of art was done by [puffbirdstudio](https://twitter.com/puffbird), and it seemed fitting to close out this story with her, too. Thank you for working with us again!

Ignis pushes the dining cart down the hallway. It was a hard-won victory to convince the kitchen staff that yes, he truly did want to take care of the delivery himself. Gladio and Noctis have Prompto down on the training grounds, drilling him on how to retrieve and discard weapons from the Armiger, testing his affinity for elemental magic, and trying valiantly not to laugh when his attempts at warping and phasing leave him flat on the ground and fighting off nausea. Ignis wasn’t needed there; for all Gladio enjoys his ribbing, he is actually a good teacher, and he will make sure Prompto measures up.

Ignis knocks at the door to Lunafreya’s suite and is permitted entrance by Glaive Altius.

“Oh, Ignis,” Lunafreya says from the couch. She sounds surprised, but not unpleasantly so. The cushions and coffee table in front of her are littered with sheafs of paper and an assortment of highlighters, and she’s sitting cross-legged in one corner. “Am I running late?”

“Not at all,” Ignis reassures her. He steers the dining cart to the kitchen table and begins unloading its contents—two meals, instead of the one that Lunafreya was expecting. “Do you mind if I join you? The others will be training for a while longer yet.”

“Of course not. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Ignis finishes setting the table while Lunafreya extracts herself from her work. He does his best not to smile when he notices she picks her way through the chaos rather than tidying it up. It is something he has seen Noctis do many times before; now, it makes him think he may truly be comfortable with calling her simply _Luna_ someday.

“How is your brother doing?” Ignis asks once she takes her seat.

“Better,” Lunafreya says, and there is no mistaking the depth of relief in that single word. “Between myself and the Citadel’s physicians, we believe he is truly out of danger now. What’s left is the slow work of recovery.”

Ravus’s survival is no small miracle. He had collapsed on the Citadel stairs, half delirious and with a festering wound. His fever had been dangerously high; there had been talks of possible sepsis. But the doctors’ skills and Lunafreya’s magic dragged him back from the brink.

“I’m glad to hear it. Have you told him yet of our planned departure?”

Lunafreya’s answering grimace is almost an answer in itself. “He is insisting he will catch up with us on the road.”

“Do you think it likely?” Ignis has not seen Ravus himself, but everything he has heard makes him think it will still be days before the man will be able to get out of bed, much less be able to endure the trip they’re planning.

Something in Lunafreya’s expression shifts, but it is gone too quickly for Ignis to parse exactly what happened. “He will try. I know he always intended to come on this journey with me.”

Ignis files the moment away, to bring up to Noctis later. It is not his place to offer Lunafreya the chance to delay their journey, nor is it his place to push back against the Astrals’ message, but—

If Noctis is to be surrounded by his closest on his journey, it would only be fair if Lunafreya could be as well. Even if their planned departure can as easily be counted in hours as it can in days. If Ravus is well enough to join them before they leave the Lucian continent, there is no reason they could not connect somewhere along the way.

They eat together then, not as stiff as a formal meal but not as companionable as friends. Ignis is trying to become better at socializing with her, for he is well aware the distance is his own fault. He is still too conscious of propriety and hierarchy, and he hasn’t spent enough time in Lunafreya’s presence alone to start putting in the hours that it will take to become friends.

Noctis and Prompto have messages, passed back and forth across the years, and Gladio has never failed to charm anyone he intended to. Ignis has always preferred the periphery. He’ll lose that shield soon within the confines of a single vehicle and a journey around the world.

Lunafreya is a good conversationalist, and if she is aware of the barriers between them, she circles by them but does not attempt to breach them. They keep their conversation on the plans Ignis drew up, and her insights are valuable. She has actual, recent experience in the wilds of Lucis and the outposts and towns that sprinkle them.

She thinks it sweet that Ignis is so optimistic about the timetable he created, which is a little embarrassing. But he dutifully reviews the notes she made on her printouts after she fetches them from the living area and promises to make her revisions. Lunafreya is, after all, the only other capable driver in their group, and if she insists so many of the smaller roads are in a wretched state, that the forests and the deserts are far larger than the intelligence reports make them sound, he will believe her.

“At every outpost, we should ask around for the local shrines,” Lunafreya says as she pushes a piece of paper that is all handwritten across the table to him. “Gladio may be more at ease if Noctis has more opportunities to purify himself beyond relying on my magic.”

Gladio’s worry about Noct’s ritual purity on this trip has been a background concern for years; now that their departure is imminent, it has risen several levels. It will be impossible to control access to Noct’s space out in the wider world as they do now in the Citadel, especially if they are to travel incognito. Lunafreya’s demonstration—reaching up to cup Gladio’s face with both hands and a warm golden light that left him swaying on his feet—has kept Gladio’s concern to a quiet simmer. Having access to shrines, even intermittently, where Noctis can run through the ablutions he normally does at night, will help quiet that concern even further.

(A small, bitter part of Ignis’s heart is also keenly aware that Noctis has not asked for comfort from him since Lunafreya’s arrival. It may be that Noctis will have far less cause to purify when they’re on the road than he did before.

Ignis hasn’t asked Prompto if Noctis is doing the same for him; there is no way to ask that question without giving away his heart.

The wise thing to do would be to come to terms with Noct’s focus on Lunafreya. She is allowed to offer him that physical reassurance when Ignis isn’t, and it would be easier than torturing himself with both the lack of contact and the chance of being caught. So long as Noctis has the comfort he needs, Ignis’s role doesn’t matter.)

Ignis tucks away Lunafreya’s notes about tipsters and the hunters system into the stack of paper she already gave him for further review. “Have you requested everything you need for the journey?” he asks. “If something hasn’t arrived yet, or if there’s anything else you need, do not hesitate to let me know.”

“I have everything I need,” Lunafreya reassures him. “I am packed and ready for our journey.”

“I do apologize for the early hour of our departure,” Ignis says. Noctis has complained about it multiple times already, and though Lunafreya hasn’t said a word, it’s only polite. “But I thought it best if we attract the least amount of attention when we leave. I will take the wheel first so everyone else can sleep.”

Ravus’s dramatic appearance inevitably attracted enough attention that they couldn’t completely hide his presence, though Ignis believes the news has been mostly contained within the Citadel. Lunafreya’s healing sessions with him have also made her more visible, but an early-morning departure and the fact that Ravus will be left behind may be able to confuse the issue for some time. It is likely inevitable that news of their survival will make it to the Empire, but every delay in information is a welcome one.

And, considering the state of the war, it is also prudent to keep Noct’s departure as secret as possible. The last thing anyone wants is for the people of Insomnia to believe that their Chosen King has abandoned them. Noctis will get the Royal Arms and the gods’ covenants and then return to them.

Ignis drops off Lunafreya’s revisions in his quarters and then heads down to the training grounds. He could have gone straight to Noctis’s quarters and waited for the rest of them to arrive, but on the whole, he would rather wait with them than be on his own.

He finds Gladio, Prompto, and Prompto’s replacement lingering in the hallway, still waiting for Noctis to emerge from the priests’ purification rooms, cleansed of physical contact and violence. Gladio and Prompto are still damp from their post-workout shower, judging from the state of their hair. Gladio looks loose-limbed and pleased, like he usually does after a productive training session. Prompto is still a bit pink from the showers, and the line of his shoulders is drooping; he is undoubtedly exhausted.

But he is still on his feet and smiling, chatting with Gladio easily. Ignis can’t help but smile as well, nor can he ignore the warmth of affection that settles across him.

He felt much the same when Prompto knelt for Noctis and was joined to the Crystal. Not quite contentment, but the reassurance that the person they had been missing all these years is finally at Noct’s back. A blossoming of hope, that with all the pieces in place, Noctis can finally take the steps he needs to take in order to fulfill his grand destiny.

The Cosmogony has never promised that Noctis will be victorious. And perhaps it is a bit reckless to think so, but now that Prompto is here, the ambiguity of the ancient text is less threatening than it used to be. They are on the precipice now, and Ignis will support Noctis in any way he can.

The door opens, and Noctis emerges. Prompto perks up immediately, and while Ignis is too far away to make out what Prompto says to Noctis, the enthusiasm in his voice is impossible to miss. Whatever he says makes both Noctis and Gladio laugh, and Ignis finds a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Ignis keeps his approach quiet, but Noctis still spots him. “Hey, Specs,” Noctis calls, and Ignis cannot help the fondness that unfurls in his heart as he joins them.

They assemble in the King Regis’s receiving room in the pre-dawn hours. Ignis tries to ignore his discomfort at being so informally dressed in front of the king, but a mixture of practical comfort and a desire to exit the city with as little notice as possible has demanded it. Prompto hovers at the back, also clearly uncomfortable at being out of uniform and uncertain what to do with himself besides.

Clarus is present as well, and so is Captain Drautos. Ignis was surprised to see the latter, though his confusion was immediately cleared up when the man handed over an envelope. Inside were several carefully folded pieces of paper detailing the most recent information the Kingsglaive had on the Empire’s strength, movement, and bases on the Lucian continent. Ignis thanked him for the update, and Drautos nodded and retreated to the edge of the room.

Gladio and Clarus speak quietly to one another on the opposite side of the room, and as Ignis watches, Clarus hands over the keys to the Royal Tombs to Gladio’s safekeeping. Noctis and Lunafreya, meanwhile, stand near the center of the room, with Regis.

The king summons his Royal Arm and presents it with both hands to Noctis. Noctis accepts the sword from his father, fingers curling gently around the blade and the hilt. Lunafreya presses her hand to his shoulder, and Noctis closes his eyes. Then the sword is gone, vanished in sparks of crystalline blue.

“When you return,” Regis says, “I will share the burden of the Ring with you.”

“Dad—” Whatever Noctis meant to say next is lost when he steps forward and pulls his father into a tight embrace. Ignis looks away, not wanting to intrude on the moment, and pretends he cannot hear Noctis tell his father he loves him.

When the two finally part, Regis grips Noct’s shoulder in his hand. “Take care on the long road. Wheresoever you should go, the line of Lucis goes with you. Walk tall, my son.”

The Sword of the Wise rises into the air, a specter glowing blue-white and burning with so much magic that Ignis can taste it in the air. And even though he knows what is to happen next, he still can’t entirely smother his alarm when the sword rotates and rams itself into Noct’s chest.

Noctis staggers back with a gasp, but he stays on his feet. He presses his right hand to his chest briefly as he gets his breath back. Then he extends his hand out in front of him again, and the sword materializes in his grip. The triumph in his smile makes Ignis’s heartbeat stutter.

Noctis and Lunafreya sit at the edge of the haven, awash in the runes’ pale blue light. She carefully points out the constellations Noctis was unable to see for himself until tonight, and he looks at her and the night sky with equal wonder.

“You know,” Prompto whispers as he carefully takes aim with his sniper rifle. There’s a panicked edge to his voice that Ignis has never heard before, which would be more concerning if Prompto’s hands weren’t steady. “Spiders are bad enough when they’re regular size.”

Keycatrich Trench has rapidly climbed to the top of Prompto’s most-hated-experience list judging by his commentary, and Ignis won’t ever forget how Prompto paled when Ignis told him how many more of the royal tombs were located underground. First Prompto had to fight through his claustrophobia and now—

“Fuck whichever Astral was responsible for arachnes,” Prompto mutters, and then he pulls the trigger.

Lunafreya extends her right hand so her trident can shimmer into existence. And then she begins to sing.

If there are words to her song, Ignis cannot understand them. The melody is high, much higher than Ignis would have thought her range would be, and there is something— _powerful_ in the notes for all their airiness. He fights off the urge to shiver, or, perhaps, to take cover. It feels like the very air has turned its attention toward the Oracle to listen.

The last note fades, and the faintest tremor rumbles through the earth.

Insomnia burns under the setting sun. It isn’t the first time Nyx has seen plumes of smoke rising like this, or monstrous daemons and dropships in the air, or MTs in the streets, but it is the first time he’s seen Insomnia’s sky without the shimmering Wall.

It’s like all the magic that used to be above has retreated to the king’s eyes. They blaze with the Crystal’s magic even though Clarus has to help keep Regis upright.

“I will do what I can with the Old Wall from here,” Regis murmurs, half to himself. Then he looks to Nyx, and his voice steadies. “See Ravus safely to Altissia. And take this.”

Regis slides the Ring of the Lucii off his finger and holds it out to Nyx. “Tell Noctis I am sorry I could not keep our promise.”

“Then let us once more into the fray, old friend.”

Ignis glances back in the rearview mirror. Lunafreya is still dead asleep, her head resting on Prompto’s shoulder. She was the only one not injured in the battle with Titan, nothing beyond a few scrapes she insisted on treating herself with a first-aid kit, and thus the only one who didn’t need to take a potion when the dust finally settled and Noct’s eyes glowed with his first covenant. Without a potion to restore her energy levels, she fell asleep mere minutes into the drive while even Noctis still buzzed with his success.

She seems pale, despite the sun and the dirt and the exertion. Ignis decides that they should get a nicer hotel once they reach Lestallum.

“It's over. The daemons are unleashed. Lucis is fallen.”

“Hear me,” Ravus snarls as best he can with Glauca’s—Titus’s, fuck, how did that _happen?_ —sword at his throat. Nyx drags himself closer, but his legs and left arm aren’t cooperating. He’s not close enough. Where’s Crowe—?

“Surrender the Ring,” Titus says calmly. “You couldn’t defeat me before, and you certainly can’t now.”

Ravus staggers back, still weak, but Nyx realizes it is just a feint when Ravus’s hand slips into his pocket and emerges with the Ring. “Lucian kings of old,” Ravus shouts, “this man murdered the Oracle, and I will have his head!”

“There was an attack. The imperial army has taken the Crown City.”

Ignis closes the bedroom door behind him to allow Noctis his privacy with Lunafreya. There is no better pair to try to comfort each other. They’ve both lost their kingdoms and their parents, and Ignis—is practical. A little better at compartmentalizing, or perhaps in a possession of a more functional version of shock.

He does not expect news from his uncle or his cousins.

Gladio is gone, undoubtedly trying to reach Iris again despite her number being unavailable. But the main room isn’t entirely empty. Prompto hovers against the wall, anxious and disappointed to see him rather than Noctis emerge from the room.

“Prompto, if you would begin packing,” Ignis says as evenly as possible, trying to force his mind to the next task and off the pointless fear. “I do not believe it wise for us to stay here past check-out.”

“A word of warning, if I may,” the stranger says as he finally pushes off the hood of their car. His first steps toward Noctis and Lunafreya are immediately stopped when Gladio steps between them. “The general brigadier isn’t the brightest of men. What he lacks in subtlety he makes up with cruelty. Lestallum isn’t much for civilization, but it is a marked step above the rest of Cleigne. I would suggest you not return here for some time.”

“And who should we be thanking for the warning?” Noctis asks.

“A man of no consequence.”

Lunafreya’s final note still hangs in the air when the sky above starts to darken. In mere moments, black rain clouds blanket the world from one horizon to the other. The wind picks up and the rain begins to fall, and Ignis is so caught up in the wonder of it that he misses when Lunafreya’s trident winks out and she falls.

“Luna!”

Noctis and Prompto are at her side in an instant, but not fast enough to beat Gentiana’s sudden appearance. She keeps the Oracle from striking her head on the ground and transfers Lunafreya to Noctis and Prompto’s joint attention.

“Is this hurting you?” Noctis demands. His voice is nearly drowned out by the storm outside the tent, but the Stormsender seems in no hurry to make them move. “You were exhausted after Titan, too. You still weren’t recovered when we had to leave Lestallum.”

“This is my duty,” is all that Lunafreya says.

Ignis cannot bear to look at the dawning horror in Noct’s expression, so he lowers his gaze to Noctis and Lunafreya’s clasped hands. Prompto’s anxious fidgeting vanishes and his fingers dig into the sleeping bag they laid Lunafreya on.

“Her life is more important, Gladio.”

Prompto knows Noctis is trying to keep his voice low, in case Luna wakes up, but also for Prompto’s sake. Because each time Luna would use her powers to purify Noct at the end of every day and she passed out, Prompto pulled away more from Noctis.

“She is doing her duty, to get you to your goal, without failing.” Gladio’s voice is a growl, a tone Prompto has been hearing more of as of late. Their nerves are all collectively shattered, and it seems like things are only getting worse, not better.

“I _will_ fulfill my destiny.” There’s a crack of emotion in Noct’s reply that makes Prompto squeeze his eyes tight. But the tears make their way down his cheeks still.

For a brief moment it feels like the world isn’t crumbling around them, that the nights aren’t getting longer and there are more and more daemons.

It’s just Prompto, taking silly photos of Noct trying to feed chocobos, while Ignis and Luna watch with soft smiles.

He wishes they could just stay there.

Seeing Pryna shakes Prompto to his core. It’s the message they have all been waiting on—to know if there is still some hope, that there are others out there who can help them.

Monica, Talcott, Iris, and Cor go upstairs to leave the five of them to read what has been sent.

Prompto wants so badly to reach under the table and take Noct’s hand in his. But instead he has to sit there, hands curled into fists on his knees, and just hope Noct knows Prompto is there for him, too.

Luna scans the page and sighs. “He’s alive, and the Ring is safe.”

They don’t relax yet, though. “And the others?” Prompto dares to ask when the silence hangs.

“Nyx and Crowe are with him. They are headed for Altissia.” When Luna looks up, her eyes are wet, and Noct immediately reaches across the table. She takes his hand and looks up at the ceiling. “He lost an arm, protecting it. But he’s alive.”

“We’ll see them soon,” Noctis promises.

Maybe Prompto could have tried to stop Gladio, or given Noct a warning, had he realized what the off to the side chats with Cor would lead to. But Prompto didn’t know all the ins and outs of all things, even now. It seemed normal that the Marshal and Gladio would need to talk privately.

All he knows is that after Gladio and Cor walk away, Prompto holds Noct tight in his room in Cape Caem with the door locked, gods be damned.

“He said he isn’t strong enough. Fucking idiot,” Noctis says between sobs, “what is he thinking, leaving?”

Prompto hugs him tighter.

“I trust you’ll be civil. Commodore Aranea Highwind, I leave them to you.”

Prompto feels only mildly better about entering this place with Aranea instead of Ardyn. Mildly.

“You sure you and I haven’t met somewhere before?” she asks when the others walk a bit ahead to inspect the ruined entryway.

Prompto knows they haven’t but the question still sends a chilling spike through him. “Nope, definitely not,” he sings and laughs as he skips away from her.

“Whoa…someone did a number on you.” Prompto says without thinking after Gladio spins Iris around in a hug.

“You should see the other guy,” he replies with a shrug. Iris fusses over the new scar, but Gladio’s gaze falls to Noct. Prompto steps back a little beside Ignis and Luna.

Gladio salutes and falls to one knee in front of Noctis. “Fear and doubt got in my head, made me think I wasn’t worthy to be your Shield. I’m sorry I left you.”

It’s the first time Prompto’s ever seen Gladio kneel like this to Noct and also the first time he’s ever sounded so serious. Prompto holds his breath.

Noctis worries his lip, and while Gladio’s head is bowed, his fingers twitch as if wanting to reach out.

Instead Noctis takes a small step away. “You’re back, that’s what matters.”

Prompto doesn’t mind having to stop at night. He would honestly rather delay getting to Altissia. He’s excited, sure, but he’s also scared. Things are getting so much bigger than he had ever thought.

He sits at the front of the boat, watching the stars, listening to the sound of water.

“Noctis, you must promise me.” He hears Luna’s voice, hushed. When Prompto turns, he can barely see Noct’s back as they speak off to one side.

“I will _not_ let anything happen to you.” Noctis makes no attempt to quiet his voice.

“All that matters is the final covenant.”

“It means nothing if we don’t all make it out.”

Prompto tries to make himself as small as possible. As he looks back out over the ocean, he vows not to lose anyone else.

The group is full of high hopes and adrenaline as they plot out their plans in the office of the Secretary. It’s honestly the first time he’s seen them all smiling in...a long time.

Prompto swallows the fear and doubt that snakes up his throat as he shares a smile with Noct over the table.

Ignis wakes sputtering on saltwater, lungs burning. He’s—water, he’s in the water. It takes a dizzying moment to reorient himself and process how he’s still alive. Somehow he caught hold of some floating debris and kept his head above water. Ignis shoves away the thought of how easily he could have drowned and searches for a way out of the canal.

The sounds of battle are all around, and further off, the roars of Titan and Leviathan. Fear for Noctis, for Lunafreya, works its way around Ignis’s heart and squeezes tight.

There—steps leading down to the water. Ignis lets go of the debris and swims as fast as he can for the landing.

Ravus looks far healthier than when Ignis last saw him in the Citadel infirmary, though it is impossible to miss that the empty left sleeve of Ravus’s coat has been pinned tight to his body so it doesn’t get in the way. He, like Ulric and Altius, is sprinkled with ash and spattered with blood, and he is just as capable as them of dispatching the MTs and Imperial officers that have flooded Altissia’s streets.

They aren’t supposed to be here. They were supposed to head for the Altar of the Tidemother immediately after Lunafreya’s address, to defend her there. The fact they have not yet reached her—

Once the plaza is clear of enemies and Ignis is close enough for conversation, Ravus resheaths his sword. “Scientia.”

Ulric and Altius salute. Ignis doesn’t have time to ask for a report because Ravus steps forward, hand outstretched. When his fingers uncurl, the Ring of the Lucii sits dark and unassuming in his palm.

Confusion quickly gives way to horror as Ardyn shrugs off fatal blow after fatal blow. He can summon weapons as well, a glowing red Armiger of them. He can warp, and his magic extends beyond the elemental. He tears through their ranks as if they were all children on the battlefield for the first time. First Ulric, then Altius, then Ravus. He taunts the latter, calling Ravus cruel for failing to end Lunafreya’s suffering. Ardyn promises he shall do it for him.

For a long moment there is no sound but the rainfall and the distant vestiges of battle. Ignis tastes blood in his mouth and coughs, overwhelmed by the nonsensical thought that he is drowning again. He struggles to push himself up to his elbows, but the screaming pain in his leg keeps him from getting any further.

The movement catches Ardyn’s attention. He drifts over, looks Ignis up and down for a moment, and without warning kicks Ignis onto his back. The blow knocks the wind from Ignis, and beneath it something cracks, sending another horrible spike of pain through his core.

Ignis blinks up at Ardyn, who has gone blurry from the rain. “Come now,” Ardyn says with mock pity, “Why not follow your liege’s lead and stop resisting?”

 _I’m sorry, Noct,_ Ignis thinks, and then he puts on the Ring.

_If thou dost wish to save the King, a sacrifice must be made._

The Lucii took Ravus’s arm to kill a traitor, and he carries the Oracle’s blood in his veins. Ignis has willfully put Noct’s acceptance by the Crystal at stake for years, and he is up against an opponent beyond measure.

 _Take everything_ , Ignis begs them. _I will pay any price._

“Noct!” Prompto screams as he and Gladio sprint towards the altar. He can’t believe just how fucking bad things had turned out. The only way this could be worse is if—

He skids to a stop on the wet cement when they turn a corner and see figures on the ground.

But it isn’t Noctis, lying there unmoving. He and Luna are the ones placing their glowing hands upon a body.

“Ignis!” Gladio charges ahead. Prompto finds his feet won’t listen. When Gladio gets closer, it looks like he almost pushes past Noctis before he remembers himself and kneels beside Luna instead.

“We must get him somewhere safe!” Luna shouts. But Prompto can’t stop staring at the way Ignis’s body hangs lifelessly as Gladio cradles him in his arms.

“...yet he, so impure of heart, was denied by the Crystal and cast into ignominy…”

Prompto opts to focus on Ignis’s sleeping form, focus on the injuries covering his face.

“I should have known,” Luna hisses through her teeth. “I should have sensed the darkness in Ardyn.”

“Hey.”

Prompto hears a chair moving along the carpet. He dares a look and sees Noctis, sitting close enough his knees touch Luna’s and their hands are clasped between them. “We won’t fail. I won’t let us.”

Prompto finds he can’t look away as he watches Noctis slide the black ring onto his hand, and it feels like there is a shift in the air.

Ignis does not expect to wake, but the pain drags him towards consciousness until he breaks the surface. He wakes in the dark, aching body draped over something—soft.

It takes a while for his thoughts to settle, reorient. The agonizing headache doesn’t help. It pulses behind his eyes, and the spikes of pain make his breath hitch. He’s horizontal, on a bed, he’s fairly sure. Which means he—survived, he survived Ardyn and the Ring.

A panic settles on his chest, pressing down and down and down.

“Noct?” he tries, but the name snags in his dry throat. He licks his dry lips to try again—

Something—someone grabs his hand. Holds tight. “Ignis?”

Noctis. Relief hurts nearly as much as the headache. The panic eases, just a little, and Ignis grips Noct’s hand back. Even he can tell it’s weak, even if he knows he shouldn’t. Surely Noctis wouldn’t hold his hand if anyone else could see it. Perhaps that’s why they’re in the dark.

There is something—odd about that thought, but Ignis can’t sort it out. It doesn’t matter right now. “I’m here. Lunafreya?”

“She’s okay,” Noctis says. His voice sounds—wrong. Ignis struggles to puzzle out why he would sound like that. Even though it hurts, Ignis turns his head towards Noct’s voice. “So’s everyone else. They’re all alive. You’re—you’re the one that scared us.”

Ignis remembers, suddenly, why Noctis might be scared. After everything, did Ignis lose it? “The Ring?”

“I have it now.” Noct’s voice breaks.

Is Noctis crying? The thought is intolerable, and Ignis reaches for Noctis with his other hand, wanting to reassure him. His control is clumsy and isn’t helped by how dark the room is, but he eventually manages to find Noct’s wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis says, voice wretched. “The covenant—after it, the best we could do was keep everyone alive. I couldn’t—”

It still takes a moment to figure out what Noctis cannot bring himself to say. Ignis remembers his vision fading out, to be replaced by brilliant lines of inhuman color, and closes his eyes.

Ignis leans back against the headboard and tries to breathe through the nausea. Lunafreya is still weak, but she is capable of getting out of bed and walking in a straight line, which means everyone came to Ignis’s room to hold the conversation.

Once Prompto is certain Ignis is settled and not about to vomit, he sits down next to Ignis on the bed. He nudges Ignis’s shoulder in a silent show of reassurance; Ignis does not quite suppress a flinch. Prompto sucks in a breath as if to apologize, but he must notice how Ignis’s hands dig into the comforter because he keeps the words to himself.

Ignis loathes himself for the vicious relief he feels.

“The Empire has the Crystal,” Gladio points out. “That’s exactly where they’ll expect us to go next. We’ll be walking straight into a trap.”

“I know.” Noct’s voice is tight with frustration. “But I still need the Crystal’s power. We’ve seen what Ardyn can do. The Ring isn’t enough.”

Ignis tells himself that no one is looking at him.

“We should go to Tenebrae,” Lunafreya says. “There are records—”

“The Manor burned,” Ravus bites out. “And even if it hadn’t, it’s unlikely the Empire simply left the Oracle’s library untouched.”

Lunafreya doesn’t rise to her brother’s temper. “The temples,” she says. “They had their own records, beyond what the priests let me access as the Oracle-in-training. If there are any surviving records about the Accursed, that’s where they would be.”

The snow burns as it hits Prompto’s face, but he doesn’t have the energy to push himself back up.

_What a way to go._

“No no no,” Prompto has collected as many files as he could while making his way through the complex. He spreads them out in the small supply closet he’s hunkered down in.

His hands shake as they slide the newspaper with the headline _A New Hope_ , and a picture of someone who looks an awful lot like Prompto underneath.

“They’ve left you to die.” A sharp blade lifts Prompto’s chin to force him to face amber eyes; he’s too tired to fight, his mind clouded over by the pain radiating through his body.

“Shall we go ahead get this over with?”

“Fuck you.”

Prompto rests his head on the pillow and lets out a shaky sigh once the doors to the bunker hiss shut. He’s aware Noctis is the only one left, somewhere near. But they haven’t touched since before the covenant in Altissia, before everything went to shit, and Prompto honestly doesn’t expect much at this point.

Everything is going so fucking terribly.

The bed dips as Noctis sits, his back hitting Prompto’s thigh. Prompto would move, but he’s too tired. They had to be mindful with potions, and he didn’t want to use too many, so while his pain is lessened he still feels completely wiped out.

So instead of moving he just closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis’s voice is small, shaky. When Prompto blinks his eyes open, Noctis is staring at him, eyes red and watery.

“Noct—” Prompto reaches his hand closest to Noctis, weakly, and Noctis takes it. He presses the back of Prompto’s hand to his forehead, and it’s clear he’s trying to get control of his emotions.

“You don’t have to say sorry.” Prompto doesn’t move at all, doesn’t want to give Noctis any inkling that he wants to get away. Because he doesn’t.

Noctis shakes his head. “But I fell for his trap. I hurt you. I got you stuck here.”

“How would you have known?”

“But I should have!” Noctis lifts his head and wipes angrily at a tear with his free hand.

Prompto moves his hand so that they interlace their fingers. But that seems to just make things worse, because Noctis dips his head and squeezes Prompto’s hand.

“You’re my Swordsworn, and yet I’ve almost lost each of you. What kind of King am I?”

“Hey now.” Prompto sits up, but Noct’s grip on his hand is too strong for him to fight against. “I’m the only one who has the self-pity parties here.”

Noctis doesn’t look up. Prompto isn’t sure how much time they have before the others return, but he knows he doesn’t want them to come back to Noctis being upset.

“You’re an amazing king.” Prompto forces himself to sit up fully, and Noctis shifts so they are sitting close. Prompto looks at their hands and squeezes before taking a steadying breath.

“You’re an amazing _person_ , Noct. You put yourself last, always. You’ve lived a life that honestly I don’t think many people could.”

Prompto licks his lips and when he looks up, Noctis is looking at him like he’s a different person. Prompto manages to get his free hand up to rest on Noct’s forearm—Noct is warm, and Prompto finds himself leaning forward so his head rests on Noct’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to see his face.

“And you’re a good...friend. The best, imo.” He doesn't mean to falter on the word _friend_ , and when he does, he winces. He hasn’t had much time, really, to think about how his feelings measure up to all the shit going on around them. “I wouldn’t go through this for anyone else.”

That’s as much as he is willing to say; he doesn’t think it will help anything now to expose his deepest feelings in this shitty place, during such a shitty time. Or really ever. So, he clears his throat and lies back down, finding it not so hard to make a pained face as he does.

After a few beats, Noctis covers Prompto’s hand with his other one. “Prompto, we’re going to get through this. Together. You with me?”

Prompto sets his most determined expression and hopes what he says carries even an ounce of the emotion he feels. “Ever at your side, always.”

Prompto used to love how blue lights played off Noct’s skin, his hair, his eyes. But at this moment he hates it. Hates the color. Hates the reflection as the Crystal pulses and glows in Noct’s irises.

“This can’t be it.” Prompto isn’t afraid to say the words no one else will.

“Prompto.” Luna is the one at his side, hand on his arm. “This is what he has been preparing for.”

Ignis’s head is tilted in the direction of Noctis—somehow he always knows where Noctis is. Gladio is the one standing in front of Noctis, blocking him from taking any more steps.

“Gladio.” Luna sounds like a queen, and Gladio huffs as he steps aside. “Only the Chosen King, anointed by the Crystal, can purge our star of its scourge.”

“He must be tested,” Ignis says more than questions. He sounds unafraid, and Prompto wonders if he would feel different if he could see the Crystal in front of them.

Luna steps away from Prompto and takes both of Noct’s hands in hers. “We have all done our part. Now it is time for you to take this step.”

Noctis looks at each of them steadily. “See you on the other side.”

Prompto wishes he could look at Ignis, because suddenly all Prompto can feel is dread.

This is where they know, truly, the effects of their actions.

The temple is eerily empty, despite everyone’s search for survivors. Ignis is little help in that department, nor can he assist with their sorting through the records. He tends the hearth they’ve decided to make their base. He can detect a little light, but nothing so distinct as shapes, and he is more sensitive to heat with his scars than he used to be. Without the dark glasses, sometimes even that is unbearable.

Footsteps behind him, light enough they cannot be Gladio, Ravus, or Ulric. Ignis tilts his head, but he can’t hear anything else that would give away who it is.

“Ignis.” It is Lunafreya after all. Weeks after Noctis demanded the Crystal renew her health, Ignis marvels at the difference in her voice. He knew she was tired when she arrived in Insomnia and grew worse on their journey with every covenant; there is no comparison to the strength in her voice now. “Do you have a moment?”

Ignis knows she is simply trying to be polite, rather than assuming because he— _no,_ that is enough of his self-pity today. He should have left it behind in Cartanica, but for all his declarations there, it still sneaks up on him.

Ignis turns toward her voice, careful not to bump into the stack of firewood Gladio procured. “Of course. How may I be of assistance?”

Lunafreya lowers herself to the floor to sit—across from him, he’s fairly certain. “I am hoping that you will have some advice for me.”

There is something about the statement that suddenly reminds Ignis that Lunafreya is the last—not living, _present,_ because the Crystal accepted Noctis into itself—ruler in all of Eos. And that Ignis was raised to provide advice, not for her, precisely, but someone of her station.

He inclines his head. “Whatever I have to offer is yours.”

“We will lose the light eventually,” Lunafreya says over the quiet crackle of the fire. “Whether that will take two months, two years, or longer, we will lose it all before Noctis returns.”

Ignis ignores the ache in his chest that always flares at Noct’s name.

“I believe my best course of action is not to lead, but to resume my journeys. In addition to searching for ways to subvert Noct’s destiny, I think I need to begin creating new havens. What say you?”

Ignis has never seen a Starscourge patient up close and never will now, but the sounds of the man’s suffering and his fearful family are obvious enough. Lunafreya’s strain is also plain through her prayer, and Ignis closes his eyes against the traces of her holy light and joins her in a parallel prayer. Not for this stranger’s health, but for hers.

“She seems nice,” Luna has a mischievous grin on her face, framed by her short platinum hair.

Prompto doesn’t look up, only focuses on his rations. He can hear Cindy talking to someone else a few booths down, now. Same topic as with them— _the sun’s already setting, it isn’t safe, we’ve set up lodgings in the garage._

“She is,” is all Prompto can manage to say. He hears Luna hum, and he looks up to see her staring over his shoulder, chin in her hand.

Prompto clinks his bottle of beer with Ignis’s—Hunter HQ is one of the few places to still find booze, and it usually came at the cost of a few hunts.

Which is fine by Prompto.

“What are we toasting to?” Ignis holds his bottle up.

He doesn’t have to think long to answer that. “To Noct, wherever the hell he is right now.”

Ignis doesn’t move right away. When he does, he takes a heavy swig, and Prompto does as well. Feels about right.

“Do you…” Prompto peels at the label on the bottle. “Do you ever worry, he won’t come back? Because of...us?”

Ignis takes another drink. “I have to believe he’s returning. That the Crystal accepted him.”

Prompto swirls the bottle around on the wooden table. “I get that.”

“Do you?”

Prompto looks up and even though Ignis can’t see his face, he feels like Ignis knows exactly what has been going through his head since the moment Noctis stepped into the Crystal.

“I do. I...I don’t want it to have...messed anything up. Because it was something he needed.”

Ignis hums.

Prompto inhales deeply, and blows the air out slowly.

“Something else on your mind, Prompto?”

“Igs, did…” Prompto props both his elbows on the table, head in his hands. “If he...I need to know. That he’s gonna be okay. I don’t…” Prompto grips his shirt at his heart. “I feel like something is missing. And it fucking _hurts_.”

He closes his eyes at the confession. He’s never said anything about this to anyone—why would he? And to who? Not when his whole world revolved around the one person he was not supposed to fall in love with.

Ignis touches his shoulder. “We can only hope the Astrals saw our good intentions. Our...dedication.”

Prompto isn’t going to cry, dammit. But when Prompto looks at Ignis, Ignis’s eyes are watering—he isn’t sure Ignis is even aware of it. And then tears fall, and Ignis is surprised enough to sit up and wipe at his eyes.

“Apologies…”

Everything falls into place, in that moment. Prompto leans forward and hugs Ignis.

“Is this payback?” Ignis’s breaths are heavy between words, and he spins the wooden polearm Gladio fashioned.

“Don’t know what you mean.” Prompto jumps forward with the spear he made.

Ignis dodges, but then stumbles. “Damn it.”

Prompto holds out a hand to help him up. “Again.”

“I’m telling you, we need to go back. I’ve drawn up a map with the locations of all the Solheim ruins we previously visited for Royal Arms.”

“Ruins? They are probably crawling with daemons, are you insane?”

“Gladio—”

“How the hell will looking at old ruins bring Noct back?”

“It won’t!” Luna stands up to Gladio, looking up at him with her arms crossed. “We’re doing this so we can help him when he does!”

“Seriously, though,” Prompto hisses under his breath. Ignis tightens his grip on his daggers and focuses on the skittering he can hear across the stone. Not in this chamber yet, but close. Several of them, unless this is a new mutation with even more legs than normal. “ _Fuck_ whichever of the Astrals is responsible for arachnes.”

“Come on,” Iris says. Ignis hears the whisper-quiet sound of leather and metal as she unsheathes the sword from her back. “This can’t be as bad as Costlemark.”

“Why would you _say_ that?” Prompto demands. Crowe snickers under her breath.

“On my mark,” Ignis cuts in before the teasing can go further. The skittering is undeniably closer now. “On three. One—”

“You’re certain you transcribed this correctly?” Ignis runs his fingers across the raised script again, unwilling to let his hope take flight without confirmation. This—if it is true—

“I’m certain,” Talcott insists. “We double checked it, we always do before we give any of it to you.”

“Who translated it?” Ignis asks. He flips through the pages carefully, searching for the reference information. “This text was found in—Steyliff Grove, last month.”

“I’ll check the log. Just a minute,” Talcott says before he darts off.

Ignis tries to calm his racing heart by taking measured breaths. He searches for the passage again with slow, trembling fingers, desperate to make sure that the words haven’t changed in the seconds since he first found them.

The air leaves Prompto’s lungs when Noctis steps out of the truck. He’s aged, just like them, but it’s jarring, it conflicts with the image he’s held in his head for the last ten...fucking hell, _ten_ years.

“Hey,” Noct waves, awkwardly.

Luna is the first to run forward, throwing herself at him in a big hug. Noctis laughs and holds her tight.

Prompto can’t stop staring.

Ignis leans close to him. “Is it really…”

“Ya…” Prompto steeples his hands at his mouth, “he fucking did it, Iggy.”

Gladio excuses himself first, moving into the tent after saying his good nights. Prompto looks between Ignis and Noctis, unsure. Of a lot of things.

“You guys,” Noctis leans forward, elbows on his knees.

Ignis turns in his seat. “Noct?”

“I know...there’s still a chance. Things could go sideways.”

“Naw dude, we’ve had ten years to prepare for this.”

Noctis stutters a laugh. “Just. But if it does. I just want you to know…”

Ignis and Prompto have the same idea at the same time—they both move out of their seats, and then are kneeling on either side of Noctis. But neither of them touch him.

That still feels like a taboo, even in this moment.

Ignis grips the arm of Noct’s chair. “We will see the dawn, together.”

“Hell ya we will.”

Noctis looks between them.

He reaches his right hand out and takes Prompto’s hand. Prompto is too shocked to do much but watch as Noct then leans over to Ignis, pressing their foreheads together and cupping the side of his face.

Ignis looks like a statue.

Prompto slides around but doesn’t let go. “Noct, you shouldn’t—”

Dust rises up when Noctis kicks the chair back and falls to his knees, pulling Ignis and Prompto close on either side of him.

“Don’t you guys get it? I passed through.” Noctis laughs thickly as he grips the back of Prompto’s shirt tighter. “It doesn’t matter now, it doesn’t matter. I can...do this.”

As if one, they all cling to each other tighter.

“Today, we finish it. Today, we walk tall—together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [puffbirdstudio](https://twitter.com/puffbird), for bringing our post-Dawn art dreams to life!
> 
> And thank you to everyone who made it this far. We appreciate your support for this weird little story. 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy, and walk tall. <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Please let us know what you think in the comments! It would mean the world to us. :333
> 
> You can find us both on Twitter: 
> 
> [AudreysKdramablog](https://twitter.com/AudreysKdrama)  
> [crazyloststar](https://twitter.com/crazyloststar)


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